


Human Nature

by LadyFangs



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Confessions, Doomed Relationship, F/M, Forced Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-22 16:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFangs/pseuds/LadyFangs
Summary: Michael Burnham and Captain Gabriel Lorca are abducted from the U.S.S. Discovery. They're imprisoned by an alien race whose motives remain unknown...until they are.Burnham and Lorca only rely on each other, and captivity brings them closer together and makes them confess to feelings long repressed. With days becoming weeks, and weeks to months, they come to accept their new reality, together and with each other.  But when rescue arrives, they struggle to re-adapt, and come to realize that what happened between them on that planet can't, and won't, be forgotten.





	1. Missing

“Captain?...Captain Lorca…wake up.”

He comes to with a start, phaser out, set on kill.

She scoots back quickly, hands in the air in a non-threatening position.

“It’s me, Captain. Michael.” Her voice is soft—he ears the dulcet tones as his eyes begin to adjust.

Michael.

Slowly, he lowers his phaser as he starts to see the outline of her form, backed against the wall. Slender, lithe.

“Sorry about that, Burnham,” he says, getting to his feet and extending a hand to her, pulling her up as well. They dust themselves off, and take a look around.

“Where are we?”

“I do not know, Captain. But wherever we are, it appears we are prisoners,” Burnham says, observing their surroundings carefully. They are in what appears to be some sort of bunker—metal walls of an unknown material enclose them. The floor is earthen and it is…cold. Damp. A small window high above them, lets in a few strains of light—but the space is mostly shrouded in shadows. And it smells…wet. Wherever they are, they most certainly are not on Discovery.

His eyes have adjusted fully now, and Lorca stares at Burnham carefully. She is clad in Starfleet-issue pajamas, a short-sleeved black shirt, and long bottoms. He has on the same.

“We were taken last night,” he tells her. “I wonder if there are others here.”

Burnham goes to the chamber door, feeling on it for any sign of a possible means of escape. There are none, save for a small, rectangular slot which only opens from the outside. It appears to be locked.

“Stand back,” Lorca says, taking aim at the door. She does and he fires.

Nothing.

He gets closer and fires again.

Still nothing.

Whatever material their cell is made of, its phaser-proof.

“Well,” he says turning to Burnham. “I guess we have no choice but to wait to meet our captors. But they’ll be in for a rude awakening.” He tucks the phaser back into his pants and comes to sit next to her to wait.

They’re both silent, contemplating the situation and working to figure a way out of their present predicament.

.

.

It takes hours for anyone to notice two of their crew are missing. The first, is Cadet Tilly.

In the beginning she doesn’t think anything of it. After all, it’s not unusual for Burnham to rise before her and disappear, and she figures her friend and mentor has already left for the day. But when she gets to the cafeteria, there is no Burnham. Instead, she finds Lieutenant Ash Tyler, sitting at their usual table, alone.

“Lieutenant,” she says as he moves into another seat to make room for her.

“Ensign, good morning. Where’s your friend?” At that, Tilly frowns. “Well, I figured she would be here already…with you?”

It’s not lost on her that Michael and Ash have gotten…friendly, during the past few weeks. Ever since Burnham’s recent mind meld with her adopted father Sarek—she seems more…relaxed. More…open. Not to mention Tilly’s been low-key encouraging the match.

So far, it had seemed to be working. Burnham and Tyler had been doing some one-on-one sparring sessions and while it wasn’t exactly Tilly’s idea of a good date—she figured beating up each other was just the sort of thing those two weirdo’s would be into. What made her excited was that Burnham was spending time with a _man_. One not named Gabriel Lorca.

No offense to the Captain, but—all he ever did was demand Burnham work on some pet project of his. And while her friend didn’t complain, Tilly felt that all work and no play just made Burnham duller than she already appeared to most, to be. Not that she was _actually_ dull. She was smart—smarter than all of them put together, and her dry wit and salty, Vulcan-inspired humor made for hilarious times when she and Chief Engineer Paul Stamets went at it—as they did on most occasions. Yet, Tilly also understood that the circumstances by which Burnham had come to Discovery, and her court-martial and lifetime sentence—made her a source of distrust and suspicion to most.

The tale of the mutiny aboard the Shenzhou was now legend. Starfleet’s first mutineer. The woman who started the war. Now rising in ranks on Discovery, protected by the Captain, First Officer Saru, and Stamets. It made for much talk—talk Tilly wasn’t and isn’t interested in contributing to. So making friends with Tyler—another recent addition to the crew, she viewed as a net positive for Burnham.

“So have you seen her, today?” Tyler asks, stuffing another burrito in his mouth and chasing it quickly with juice.

“Not yet,” Tilly tells him. “She’s probably in engineering getting into it again with Stamets.”

“I think they just enjoy debating each other to death,” he says, and she agrees.

But when she makes her way to engineering, she finds Burnham isn’t there, and Stamets is looking for her.

“Ensign, have you seen Burnham?” He asks.

She shakes her head no, and he frowns, moving to the comm system on the wall to page the bridge.

“Command, this is science. Come in.”

“Command here.” It is Saru.

“Lieutenant Commander, have you seen Michael Burnham?” Stamets asks.

There is a long pause, and when Saru speaks again, it is laced with concern.

“I have not. Have you seen Captain Lorca? He has been absent from the bridge all morning, and is not in his ready room or his lab.”

.

.

A ship-wide search for their bio-signs turns up nothing. And it is followed by a manual search as well. Still nothing. No shuttles have been taken, and nothing, aside from the people themselves, have been removed from their quarters. It is as if they have vanished into thin air. Saru calls the command staff together—including both Tilly and Tyler in the room.

“It appears we have a situation,” he says grimly, pacing before them.

“Captain Lorca, and Michael Burnham are…gone.”

Gone.

Disappeared.

Tilly and Tyler look at one another, then at Saru. Stamets and Dr. Culber look at him as well.

“We’ve got to find them,” Culber says. “This ship cannot operate without its captain…”

It is Tyler who speaks up next. “Nor without Burnham as well.”

They all know that it is true.


	2. Escape Attempt 1

**Chapter 2**

It is 24 hours before the small slot in the door is opened, and food shoved through.

Lorca approaches it warily and brings it back for Burnham.

“What is this?” She looks at it cautiously. There are four, white squares, with a texture similar to…jello…more viscous than solid.

“I believe it is…nourishment,” Lorca tells her, inspecting it closely for himself. They look. They sniff.

She pinches a bit of it on her finger and places it in her mouth. Lorca watches.

“Well, it is not poison,” Burnham says.

“Might as well be,” he says gruffly, placing the metal plate it’s on the ground. “I’m not hungry.”

“Neither am I. But we may soon be, if we cannot get out of here,” Burnham says, grabbing her shirt and ripping a bottom piece off of it.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure we can keep what we don’t eat,” she says, wrapping up the “nourishment” and placing it in a corner.

“Do you think the crew knows we are missing?”

Lorca looks around them. “I’m sure of it. We just need to figure out a way to reach them so they can find us. We have got to get out of here. Come, Burnham, I have a plan.”

She comes and they huddle together in a corner, Lorca whispering in her ear.

“I need you to pretend to be ill, he tells her. MY assumption is that we are being monitored. If it’s correct, someone…or something will come. Be prepared to go on my mark.”

She nods.

After a while, they hear noise in the hall and Lorca looks her way. She collapses and he rushes to her.

“Burnham! Burnham!”

He “checks” her pulse, her breathing. She remains limp. Eyes closed. In panic, Lorca bangs on the cell door.

“We need help! Help!”

There is rustling on the other side…and then…it opens.

He does not look. Like instinct, it is pure response.

 The phaser is pulled out and he shoots, striking a tall figure shrouded in a black cloak.

“Go Burnham.”

She jumps up and bolts out the door, Lorca covering her as more figures begin to come out.

“Anyone else in here?” Lorca calls as they run down hall after all—all looking exactly the same. They keep going…going…until…

“Captain,” Burnham says, becoming slightly winded. “I think we are going in circles.

Sure enough—they are back: before their own cell door, the black clad figure still on the ground. There are no more signs of their captors.

They are gone, having long stopped chasing them.

Lorca bends down to remove the hood.

“I’ve never seen this species,” he says stepping back to so that Burnham can see for herself.

“It is unlike anything we have recorded, she says. “No eyes. No noses, but see here—“she points to what appear to be gills on the head.

“I wonder…” A slender finger reaches out to touch. But as soon as she does, she feels a sharp burst of pain in her mind and screams, falling to the ground and clutching her head. Lorca comes next to her.

“Burnham! Burnham!”

 She hears him but cannot respond. She is inundated with light and noise…a cacophony of sound and images she can’t distinguish, cannot place…she tries to block it out, but it only makes it worse and it becomes so terrible that she screams again before everything goes dark.

.

.

When she wakes, she’s laying on something…not hard ground.

“Ohhh…” a groan. Her head is pounding and when she finally manages to open her eyes, she sees her Captain staring down at her. She closes them again, and tries to move.

“Hurts?” He asks quietly, opening his arms and giving her more free movement as she sits up. He’s been holding her the past three hours, watching the rise and fall of her chest, monitoring her breathing and trying to figure out a way out of this.  Now that she’s awake though, he gently helps her sit up on the floor.

“Yes.” Burnham says through gritted teeth. The pain is still intense, but she can, at least, function.

“What happened?” Lorca asks, backing up a bit and standing to stretch his legs.

“When I touched the creature…it was like someone set my mind on fire,” she tells him. “All of these images all of these…sounds…it was too much. My brain shut down.” And it did, for its own protection and for hers.

“Telepathic species?”

“Perhaps.” She rubs her temples.

Her body is tired. The running. The head games. They’ve now been here a day and a half, judging from the shadows the light from the window casts into their cell, and she estimates it must be nearing evening, wherever they are.

“The phaser is gone,” Lorca says. At that, she looks at him. Really looks at him.

“You’re hurt!” Burnham exclaims, ignoring the flash of pain in her head as she gets to her feet and begins to assess the captain. There is a deep bruise on the side of his face. She reaches to touch it, but he brushes her hand away.

“Don’t look like that,” he says.

Like what?”

“Worried. I can tell. In your eyes. I’m fine. They knocked me out with some sort of energy blast. Happened when I hit the ground.”

“So right now, we have no weapon. No way to get out.” It’s quiet. Contemplative.

“Come, Burnham. Let’s rest a while. We’re not solving problems going in circles,” he tells her, coming to settle back on the floor and closing his eyes.

She moves in to settle across from him.

“We can sleep in shifts, Captain.”

“I’ll take first watch,” he says.

“No. you rest. I’ve had enough.”

He doesn’t argue, just closes his eyes.

Burnham watches over him the rest of the night.

 


	3. Questions

Are you having any luck tracing their last known locations?”

Saru turns to them.

“Nothing so far, Commander. The last place Burnham was seen was walking to her quarters around 1100 hours the night before they disappeared,” Tilly says.

“And the last time Lorca was seen was 0100 hours, leaving the bridge,” Tyler offers. “I’ve checked the security footage, and it appears they both entered their quarters, but never came out again.”

“So either they did come out again and the footage was altered,” Saru says, a hand on his chin. “Or, they never left their rooms. Have you verified whether the footage is intact? Has it been tampered with?”

“Tyler shakes his head, “no, sir. The footage checks out.”

“We can search their rooms again, Commander.” Tilly again. “Perhaps there is something we missed?”

He nods, “Very well. Stamets, go with Tilly to Burnham’s room. Tyler with Dr. Culper to the Captains. If anything is there, we need to find it. We need to find them.”

Because it’s been three days so far, and there is beginning to be talk among the crew.

**.**

**.**

“I can’t believe this,” Tyler says. “Nothing is missing. Nothing is gone. It’s like they just…vanished.”

“Nothing JUST vanishes,” Culber says tersely, tricorder in hand taking readings. “And certainly not Lorca and Burnham.”

“We were just getting…” Tyler stops himself. He’s been thinking aloud.

In truth, he’s more than worried. These past few weeks with Burnham have given him a stability he’s long craved…a setting that he’s yearned for since being adrift. She’s been the calm for the storm in his head and his heart and they had been…

_Had been what?_

He was hoping they would soon become…more than friends.

“Do you think maybe…she left with Lorca?” Tyler asks, turning to Culber. “That perhaps they orchestrated this…and left together?”

“For what reason?” The doctor asks, raising an eyebrow.

Tyler turns away, electing to keep further thoughts to himself.  “No reason. I’m just…going through the possibilities…”

He closes his eyes, remembering Lorca’s words to him on the shuttle, as they were preparing to fly off into the nebula to rescue Sarek.

“Bring her back in once piece… or don’t come back at all,” the Captain had told him, a hand on his shoulder. Tyler thought he was referring to the ship but…“I was talking about her,” he’d said, with a head motion toward Burnham, who was busy looking down and sifting through a bag on the floor.

It was as much a threat as it was a warning, and Tyler had understood instantly the message. They were both men, after all. He knew perfectly well what Lorca was saying, even though the Captain did not state it explicitly.

_“Bring her back…to me.”_

.

.

The door swings open startling the both of them. Burnham gets to her feet and is ready to charge but in an instant is shot with some high-yield energy blast. The last thing she sees before she goes down is Lorca fighting the figures in the black robes, before he too is shot and dragged out of their cell, unconscious, by two tall dark figures shrouded in robes.

**.**

**.**

“ugh…”

She gets to her knees slowly and immediately begins dry-heaving on the ground. Her entire body is trembling uncontrollably, residual effects from the blast. There’s no way of knowing for sure how long she has been out—but their chamber is dark again, and she thinks another day must have passed. The cell door opens and Lorca is thrown in, his body rolling on the floor, limp.

“Captain!”

Despite her own fragile state, Burnham forces her body to crawl over to his. He moans a bit, but does not move and quickly, she takes assessment.

“Captain, can you hear me?”

“Burnham…”

It’s barely above a whisper. His lip is split, there is a gash over his left eye and his breathing is ragged, uneven. She lowers her head to his chest to listen…fluid…and fluid internally can only mean one thing. Bleeding.

“Stay still,” she tells him, gently raising his shirt, and gasping at what she sees. Deep red bruising around his chest and ribs…a touch and he winces, then groans.

They beat him.

Her trembling hands lower the shirt. There’s absolutely nothing she can do for his injuries except hope that he heals and try to make him more comfortable. Right now, his breathing is strained, labored, and so she tries to still her shaking body enough to grab him and move him away from the door.

Lorca is heavy.

 And it takes what’s left of her strength to get them across the cell and into a corner. She moves his head into her lap to give him more clearance for breath, and rests her own head on the wall, closing her eyes.

.

.

The sound of metal creaking is what wakes her, and she looks toward the door, seeing a bundle being slipped through the rectangular opening and set on the floor.

Lorca is sleeping, still, his breathing better and she moves his head and lays it gently on the floor before approaching the bundle cautiously.

In it—more “food” the jello-like white squares, and two containers with liquid—perhaps water?

She licks her lips. It’s been at least four days since they’ve been here with only the nutrition squares to eat—and nothing to drink. This is a first.

And there is more: what appear to be bandages, and a long piece of heavy cloth…a blanket? She thinks. Whatever it is, she is grateful for them and takes the supplies back to their corner. The cloth she bundles up and places under Lorca’s head and the bandages and water she uses to clean the cut on his forehead.

Slowly, his eyes flicker open.

“It seems our captors have a conscience,” she tells him quietly. He grimaces a bit, but is quiet as she works.

“Are you thirsty?”

A nod and she helps him sit up.

At this, he groans and she gives him the water. He drinks thirstily, some of it dribbling down his chin.

“Thank you, Burnham.”

“Here, eat this.” She gives him two squares—one that she has saved and the other from tonight’s portion. He takes them and consumes them quickly, before wincing and laying back against the wall. She eats her portions as well and they spend the day quiet, with Lorca mostly sleeping.

But when night comes, it is bitterly cold. Colder than it has been since they arrived. There is only one blanket and Burnham gives it to Lorca, knowing he needs it more than she does.

Yet, when morning comes, they’re both on the ground, under the blanket together. Sometime in the night, he’s placed it over both of them.


	4. Intrusions

“How are you feeling?”

It has been two days since the torture, and they have received more medicine.

“Better,” Lorca tells her, stretching.

Let me see,” she says reaching for him. He turns away but she is insistent and finally, he acquiesces. She raises his shirt to check the bruising. Red, and becoming lighter. Her fingers run over his chest, feeling his ribs. None are broken and she is satisfied.

“Are you done, now…doctor?” Lorca asks, almost dismissively. She looks at him, arching an eyebrow.

“If it weren’t for me, _you_ likely would have died. A ‘thank you’ would be sufficient.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, _Captain_.”

He sighs, hearing the lilt of annoyance in her voice. It shames him, momentarily. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little…”

Pissed off. Stressed out. Worried…

“I get it, sir. You forget that I’m here with you.”

_Here with you._

No…he’s acutely aware that she is. That she has been. Burnham’s gentle touch has been welcome. He was not entirely unconscious when she checked his bruises and the gentle touch coupled with the warmth of her body so near his was... Reassuring. Yes. That’s what he tells himself.

Reassuring.

 He had been too weak to acknowledge it at the beginning but last night…when he had awakened and saw her shivering from cold and realizing she’d given him the blanket, well…he could not allow her to suffer. And so, he had taken her and lay her down, bringing himself next to her to huddle up—knowing the blanket would work better if there were two people generating body heat, not just one.

She had stilled eventually, and got closer to him and the feel of her was…

No. This is neither the time, nor the place. There are other issues they have to attend to. Such as…

“Captain?”

“Yes Burnham?”

“Could you please…turn around?”

At that, he looks at her. “Why?”

“Because, Captain…I need to…pee.”

Oh yes. There is that.

He turns away, puzzling over their situation.

“How long have we been here?”

She finishes and then speaks.

“I think perhaps five days, now.”

Five days. Five days and yet they are still trapped, like lab rats.

“What do they want from us?” He doesn’t realize he has spoken aloud until she answers.

“I do not know.”

Suddenly, the door opens and they both turn to see the shadow figures moving toward them. Burnham holds up her hands, and Lorca follows.

“I demand to speak with…” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before they’re both taken down by high-energy shots.

.

.

“Burnham?”

“Burnham? Can you hear me?”

She comes to slowly, her body shaking, still.

“I really wish they would stop doing that,” she says through chattering teeth.

Lorca laughs darkly. “Well, it looks like we’ve been upgraded, he tells her as she manages to open her eyes and sit up. A look around.

Their dirt cell has now been replaced by white walls all around and a cold floor. In the corner is a small lavatory and when she looks down, she sees she’s no longer in her tattered Starfleet issued pajamas. But neither is Lorca. He’s in a white shirt and pants, and she’s in what appears to be just a shift nightgown that stops right above the knee.

They’re also…clean.

“Perhaps they realized we’re better if we’re alive,” Burnham says drily, slipping down from the table? Bed? She was previously laying on. It’s better than the ground.

“I suppose. They knocked us out to move and clean us.” Lorca says. Statement. Not question. “I really hate being a lab rat.”

“At least now you know how the Tardigrade felt,” she says. At that, he grows quiet.

They’ve never discussed the Tardigrade incident.

“I won’t apologize for it. We did what we had to do.”

“And we nearly killed a sentient creature for it.”

“It wouldn’t have been the first death, nor has it been the last,” Lorca says resolutely. But there’s a tinge of sadness in it, and she looks at him. He looks back at her, not breaking. “We both have blood on our hands.”

That they do. She knows she cannot judge him for his decisions. Her own have been questionable. She killed her captain. He killed his crew. The guilt weighs on them both.

“We did what we had to do.” She repeats it quietly.

.

.

The third time they come, they come for her. And he’s powerless to do anything.

Lorca is not accustomed to being powerless. They don’t even knock him out for it—just turn up the lights as bright as they will go and blind him as they take a screaming and fighting Burnham away.

He curses, and yells for her as he stumbles around the room and once the door slams shut again, the lights are turned low, and the pain in his head slowly begins to subside.

What does not subside, however, is the roiling anger in his chest. But he has never made a rash action. And so he moves close to the door, and waits. If there is one thing he excels at, it is patience—and when needed, he has it in spades.

 All he needs is a moment, blind eyes and all.

To track time, he counts to himself silently.

30 minutes. An hour. Two. Five…He waits.

The door opens. The lights come on.

But not before he catches a glimpse of the creature in black.

Burnham stumbles through and before the door can close again, he grabs the hooded figure and drags it into their cell, jumping on it and beginning to swing.

He doesn’t need his eyes to kill.

Yet what he doesn’t see is the second figure that comes through, and screams as he’s hit by what feels like phaser fire—a shock so great it’s as if his body is being ripped apart.

The last thing Lorca sees as he falls is Burnham, lying motionless beside him.

.

.

“Heroics will get you killed, Captain.”

The lights have dimmed again. He opens his eyes carefully to see her soft brown ones staring down at him. He manages a smile, though.

“I can only wish death looked as good as you do,” he tells her, wincing as he sits up.

It earns him a rare, wry smile from her which disappears just as quickly.

“What did they do to you?” He asks, taking a closer appraisal of her.

She is still in her dress, and at the question, there’s a grimace as she looks away.

“Tests.”

That’s all she says, and he looks at her with concern.

“What…sort…of tests?”

Burnham doesn’t look at him. Instead, she moves to the lavatory.

Out of respect, he averts his eyes as the water turns on, and she climbs out of her shift, and steps naked into the stream.

Tests…

He doesn’t like the way she said it. It makes him even angrier. What was…implied.

He steals a glance her way.

The water is hot. The steam rising. It is dark in the room, but he sees best in darkness, and as she turns, he sees the glance of her hips, The ‘v’ between her thighs… the curve of her back, and the rise of her breasts, the peaks of her nipples, darker the rest…high…

Shit.

He stops looking.

The water breaks, and there’s a blast of air. When Burnham comes back she is dry, dressed again in her shift.

“I am tired, sir.”

She climbs on the bed. And that is when he sees them. The red marks on her legs. Impressions…hand marks.

Their eyes meet, and the shift is pulled down, covering. But he has seen enough. And he is outraged by it.

“What. Did. They. DO?” It’s low, dark, tinged with bitterness…but it is not at her.

“They did not hurt me.”

“But they touched you.”

It is a violation—worse, he feels, than what he suffered.

“Please, Captain—I do not wish to discuss it. There was no…penetration.” It is all she says as he brings her the blanket and she accepts, laying down and turning away from him. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Burnham.” It is all he can say. They have never discussed anything remotely personal, and while he wants to know…he does not want to further injure her, nor does he wish to disturb what little privacy remains between them.

Still, he stands, watching her, and eventually she turns over to watch him.

“Are you not going to sleep?”

“I don’t sleep.”

They fall silent. The only time he has slept so far is when his body was too broken to do otherwise. Now, she rests while he stands guard, coming to settle on the floor beside the stand where she lays.

It feels as if the temperature has fallen another several degrees. There is a blast of air, from where, he is uncertain. A thin, white frost begins to form, and slowly creep up the white walls.  His body begins to shake—the first sign of his circulatory system attempting to protect the vital organs.  

“Captain.”

“Burnham.”

“You are cold.”

He is. Very. Very cold.

“Freezing yourself to death doesn’t do us any good. I can share.”

He closes his eyes and exhales, the air coming out in puffs in front of his face.

“Sir…”

Reluctantly he gets up and climbs in beside her, under the blanket.

Burnham drifts off to sleep again.  But Lorca doesn't He’s acutely aware of how they are positioned, and when she backs up into the curve of his body he freezes, trying to figure out what to do. What she wants is warmth, comfort—and it is instinct and survival that draws her nearer to him. They are more effective if they are closer, warmer too, and so he wraps an arm around her.

Gradually, they stop shivering.


	5. Talks

**Chapter 5**

The first thing she feels is warmth.

The second is security.

“Do you want to tell me what happened when you were gone?” She turns to the voice behind her and comes face-to-face with her captain. Lorca is looking down at her, concern in his eyes and his gaze intense. She sits up and he does too as she wraps her arms around herself, closing her eyes. A shudder. All last night she had dreamed of the figures in black, touching her body and trying to probe her mind. There was not physical pain but there was great emotional and mental duress and she felt…no feels...

A long, exhale and when she opens her eyes, Lorca is there, waiting in earnest. So she tells him.

They attempted a mind probe of some sort—but it failed. Then, they began to… touch me.”

His face darkens and he frowns, breathing deeply as she talks, keeping his hands clasped behind his back so she can’t see them become fists. Still, Burnham feels the agitation rolling off of him, the tension he emits.

 “It was very, clinical, Captain. “Like they were checking me for something.”

“ _Where_ did they touch you?”

He has already seen the marks on her thighs. “My stomach. My hips, my breasts,” Burnham says. “They were using some sort of scanner. What they were searching for, I have no idea. Their fingers were…cold. It was…disturbing.”

He stores that away for later.

Soon, their “nutrition” arrives through the slot in the door. She goes to it and brings it back to him.

“Here.”

He takes it and eats. They have to stay alive, after all.

“Do you have any idea of how long we’ve been here?”

There is no more window in their new cell. And the light is artificial.

Burnham shakes her head. “Possibly two weeks?”

Two weeks.

It would be helpful to have even a guess of where they are.

.

.

“So, what brought you to Starfleet?” He asks.

They sometimes fill their time with talk. And today, he is curious to know more.

“My mentor brought me,” she says, stoically.

“Sarek…and his human wife, yes. Tell me something, Burnham. How does a human child come to be raised by a Vulcan-Human couple? How did that impact you?”

“I almost died once,” she says, turning to face him. They are both sitting, side-by-side. Her legs are drawn up to her chest, and he’s cross-legged.

“Klingon’s killed my parents and I nearly died in the same attack. Five years later, on Vulcan, I did die in another.”

Lorca smiles at her. “You’re tough to kill. And they say cats have nine lives.”

“You know that Vulcans are evolved from felines.”

At that, he laughs, a deep, hearty laugh. “Well, you’re on your third one. Tell me something else, if you had the chance…what would you want your fourth life to be?”

Burnham leans her head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling.

“Freedom,” she says softly. “I want to know what it’s like to be a free human being, again.”

Freedom.

Lorca knows. He knows she’s not just talking about this place they are in. She’s expressing something greater. Something bigger.

 “I don’t know what that’s like anymore,” he tells her, leaning back as well.

“That is the difference between you and I Captain,” she says. “You are a prisoner in your own mind. My mind is free, but my body is property of Starfleet.”

“A cell is a cell,” he says. “No matter the method of incarceration.”

These are the things that bind them. Collective guilt. Collective failure.

Burnham turns and looks at him a long while and he feels as if she’s probing into the depths of his mind, the pit of his soul—what he has left of it.

A small, slender hand reaches out to touch the side of his face—it’s a warm touch, and his eyes close a moment. When he opens them, she’s still there, looking at him. His hand wraps around hers, removing it gently.

“Thank you, Burnham.”

It goes without saying. She’s guilty of one thing. His offenses have been many.

 

.

.

“So, you and Tyler?”

She looks up, surprised and he laughs at her facial expression.

“I know everything that happens on my ship,” he tells her, pointing to his eyes. “I’m always watching.”

“So says the blind man,” Burnham retorts, drily.

“Light sensitive, not blind. And you’re both on my bridge. It’s obvious.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

“Um…hmm…” He smirks to himself. “Sure you don’t.”

At that, there’s a pause, and slightly awkward silence. It’s a while before she speaks again and it’s quieter.

“Maybe…maybe I do.”

He opens an eye and glances her way. Burnham is perched on the table, cross-legged, her shift pulled down over her knees.

“He’s a lucky man,” Lorca tells her.

“Why do you say that? What does luck have to do with it?”

At that one, he stops talking. They’re approaching dangerous territory and he has sense enough to know when to back away. Never mind, Burnham. One day, I’m sure you’ll understand.”

 _One day I’m sure you’ll understand_.

She just stares at Lorca. Or rather, the back of his head. He’s turned away from her again. But it has left her wondering what he means by it.

_How am I to understand, if there is no one to teach me?_

He glances back at her and for a moment she stops breathing, fearful the thought has been spoken aloud. Her feelings for Tyler are…confused. Hesitant. To her he is…fascinating. Interesting. Intriguing but…

“I’ve never been in love before.”

It’s information volunteered. Something she’s never told anyone else. At that, Lorca’s eyes meet hers.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he says softly, standing and walking toward her. She holds her breath as he comes close, and it’s his turn to touch her cheek. The hand is large, and calloused. Rough…but the touch itself is gentle.

“It can be a beautiful thing,” he says, before letting the hand fall, and taking a seat beside her. They stay like that, quiet the rest of the night.

It’s cold again, yet by now, they have a routine. She curls up against him, and he wraps his arm around her. They still only have one blanket.

.

.

The next week passes uneventfully. Their cell is not as cold, allowing them—and Lorca—to sleep separately. He takes the floor, leaving Burnham the bed.

Hours are spent conversing: keeping their minds and bodies sharp. Calisthenics. Mental puzzles. Burnham tests his knowledge of species, Star fleet regulations, protocols. He tests hers.

But on day eight, peace is broken.

She starts choking as a thick mist begins pouring into the room.

It is something new.

“Captain! Captain Lorca!

“Burnham! Get low!” he instructs, and they do, wrapping their clothes around their mouths to block out the mist. But there’s only so long they can stave it off before they’re both out cold.

When the mist finally clears, she wakes to see Lorca is gone.

There’s a tightening in her chest, and a sinking feeling in her stomach.

She knew after he killed one of their captors, that they would only be left alone for so long. Apparently, the time is up.

Carefully, quietly, Burnham begins to take inventory of what medical supplies remain. There are still some strips of cloth. And they now have fresh water that she can use. The human hopes she will not have to, but her Vulcan mind knows she will.

All she can do is wait.

When the doors open and Lorca is thrown back in, he collapses, gasping. And her mouth falls open in shock.

It is far worse than the first time. But at least he is still conscious, and she quickly moves to put her arm around him and help him to the bed.

The bloodied shirt comes off first, and it is then she sees the full extent of the damage. While there had been only bruising the last time, there are deep lacerations as if he were beaten with something that broke skin.

“Can you turn over?” She tries to keep her voice calm, soothing, but her heart is racing and her face flushed with an emotion she has only felt once before…

He does as she says and she sees his back—also covered.

“Captain.”

“Just…I’ll heal.” It is pained and she sees him gasp and wince.

Burnham shakes her head, seething with anger on what they’ve done to him.

This cannot continue. She won’t allow her captain to be broken.

There’s a sound from the door and she looks up to see a package slide through a small, rectangular opening. She quickly goes to it:

More bandages. Food. Ointments.

What she wants is to throw them at the wall. Reject it all, and defy everything around them. But she cannot. It is not who she is, what she is, and what she is not, contrary to popular belief, is a murderer. And if she were to throw it all away she would be complicit in the death of her captain—and she will not kill another.

And so, despite her anger at her captors, she carries it back, and gently begins to work on him, wrapping his chest, applying the ointment to his wounds, and running her hands gently across his shoulders, his arms his stomach. It is a Vulcan practice—something the old healers taught; all humanoids have pressure points, places to touch to relieve pain.

While touching has never come easy, it is what she does for him, now.

The lights, as usual, are low.

And the temperature begins to fall.

She has noticed this. There is a pattern, she is sure. Something which triggers the cool down. But she has yet to figure it out.

Lorca has fallen asleep. And when the cold becomes unbearable, she climbs into bed beside him, under the lone blanket they share. Tonight, he sleeps. Burnham watches over him.


	6. Out of Darkness

**Chapter 6**

Tests. More tests. More surveillance footage. More searching. They are nearing the point at which Starfleet must be notified, and Saru is trying desperately to delay that for as long as possible. The crew is beginning to grow frustrated, and he wonders, perhaps not without reason, whether their frustration lies with him, the situation, or a combination of both.

He is not their captain. Just a stand in for the man who was born for the chair.

It is this that has at times given him pause—he is not Lorca. Lorca is fearless. Commanding. At times, intimidating—but Lorca demands respect. It is both earned, and given to him. Saru on the other hand…he brushes the thought aside. Now is not the time for such thoughts. He must get the Discovery through this. And he will. On this, he is determined.

“Anything?” He asks the people assembled around him.

“Perhaps.”

It is Stamets and Tilly.

“What did you find?”

“Well, we found traces of an unidentified DNA sequence,” she says.

“Unidentified? What do you mean?”

“Not human. Not of any species we’ve ever seen before,” Stamets says, looking at Culber. “Doctor, did you notice anything in Burnham’s area?”

He nods. “Yes. Faint traces of what seemed at first to be a…trail…of some sort. But it existed only in that area.”

“That’s good!” Saru says. “Can we figure out where it came from? Maybe where it came from is where we can find our Captain and our missing crew member.”

“Unfortunately, the substance was only in those locations. It is nowhere else on the ship.”

Nowhere. Gone…those words again.

They all fall silent, pondering the dilemma.

Ultimately, it is Tilly who speaks next.

“Perhaps…it came from outside the ship?” She says, hesitantly. They look at her, and she straights herself up.

“Speak,” Saru says.

“Well…maybe…maybe we can re-program the deflector dish…to scan for like…particles? Substances? Maybe there’s a trail…out there.” She points at the window, into the blackness of space.

“Are you suggesting they didn’t leave voluntarily? That they were...kidnapped?” Tyler looks at Tilly, and she nods.

“Yes. Because there’s no other explanation. Captain Lorca loves this ship more than he loves anything else. And Burnham…”

She drifts off on that, electing to leave it alone for the moment.

Still she doesn’t look at Tyler as he stares at her. He’s not obtuse. He knows both how and where and with whom most of Burnham’s time is spent. Even if she herself never realized it. Lorca.

“If they were taken,” Saru says grimly, “then we also need to know why. Dr. Culber...check the crew over. Whatever happened to them…I feel like they were chosen for a reason. We need to know the connection. Tilly, Stamets, Tyler—start work on reconfiguring the deflector.”

.

.

“I’m getting really sick of this.”

The first thing out of Lorca’s mouth when he wakes up.

“Burnham?”

He looks down and sees her, resting at the foot of the bed, curled up. How long has she been there?

Likely since he was thrown back, he thinks, wincing as he sits up and looks down at himself, covered in bandages. Slowly he removes one and fingers the skin. The cuts are near healed. Healed…without the assistance of any medical device. Whatever they’re giving him must accelerate healing then. With care, Lorca finishes removing the bandages. His body is still sore, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was. Their room remains dim, but there is enough light and he searches for his shirt.

Burnham has washed the blood from it, and it is draped near the sink. He goes to it and…thinking a moment, opts for something else.

Another glance at Burnham and he sees she is still asleep. Carefully, he takes off the pants and steps into the shower, turning on the water.

It is hot.

Gloriously hot and he revels in it, rolling his shoulders and his back and his neck as the steam begins to build, filling his lungs…

She wakes at the sound of running water.

“Captain?”

There is no answer, but she looks to the place where the water is coming from and gasps, shutting her eyes.  But curiosity does her in and she opens one, daring to look again.

Burnham has never seen a naked man before and it is…fascinating. To say the least. At least, not one so…close. Lorca’s head is down the water beating down on his neck, his back his shoulders—the muscles there flexing and bending and stretching as he moves, all raw, coiled power.  She watches as the water runs down his bare form across his chest, his waist his thighs…he turns a bit in her direction and she catches a view that makes her gasp and squeeze her eyes shut.

Legs too.

There’s a sensation in her belly and she shifts slightly, quickly trying to squelch it.

Wholly inappropriate for the situation. Wrong in general.

The water turns off and she remains quiet, waiting and counting to two minutes. When she opens them again, he has on pants.

“Burnham. You’re awake.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“How long?”

It’s a question they continue to ask themselves. Only guesstimates now. The extended blackouts have taken their toll.

“A month? Two?”

He grunts at that, taking a seat next to her, and pulling on his shirt.

“Too long,” he says.

She looks at him.

It has been too long. They have to find a way out.

.

.

It happens fast. So fast she doesn’t have to think. Just react. They are awakened by the sound of the door opening and Burnham moves quickly, wrapping her arms around Lorca.

“NO!”

It is direct, and she clings to him and he wraps his arms around her, looking at her as the figures stop in the doorway.

Slowly, they begin to retreat.

The door closes and there is silence.

Lorca and Burnham look at each other.

“What made them stop?” He asks.

She shakes her head. “I do not know.”

He hugs her tightly, before letting her go, gently.

It’s another cold, frigid night.

Quietly, they climb back into bed, under their blanket.

He pulls her close, against him, and she snuggles back into his warmth.

But both are wide awake. Shaken.

The pattern is changing.

It is the first time their captors have come for them at night. And they know it is night, because it’s the only time it gets cold.

.

.

“Burnham. Wake up.”

She does and sits up immediately, blinking several times. There is a light coming in from the wall…the door.

“Is it…open?”

Lorca nods, approaching the door carefully.

In front of it are two seats of Starfleet issue pajamas—clean. The tear in Burnham’s has been repaired.

There is also his phaser.

A test shot.

It singes the wall.

Beside the clothing is a sack and he opens it carefully. Another blanket. And in it, more nutrition squares. Bandages, liquids of some form. A sharp, short spear-like object, and a dark, transparent, flexible band.

She comes over to look as well.

“What IS this?”

“A trap, I think,” Lorca says grimly.

“Maybe…maybe they want to let us go?” She says, taking assessment. “They’ve given us back our things. And they’ve given us…more?”

“Perhaps. But I don’t trust it. I don’t trust them.”

“We don’t even know them, Captain.”

“What I DO know, I don’t trust.”

“Then what would you have us do?”

He looks at her, phaser in hand.

“Stay here. If I come back, then it’s safe. If I don’t…it’s not. But I’m not letting them kill both of us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sir. Always sir. Captain. Burnham. Lorca. Formalities.

It’s about survival.

She waits, pacing the cell. It’s quiet outside and just as she is weighing whether to take the chance…he comes back.

“Let’s go.”

But Lorca’s eyes…

He’s blinking rapidly and she can already see—there’s light out there. It’s in the way his brow is furrowed. The way his eyes water and he’s squinting.

Burnham gathers the blankets, the rest of the bandages, the items their captors left for them and the strange, black translucent band—she ties it all within the two blankets and then loops those blankets together, making a sort of rucksack that she drapes over her arm. She is still in her shift but she follows the Captain as he takes them down a series of winding halls.

“Here,” he tells her, pushing against the wall and turning away as Burnham squints into the light—catching the first whiff of fresh air that she’s inhaled in…

She no longer knows when.

“We’re…free?”

It’s hard to believe. She’s not sure she should trust it, and her first steps out of the prison they’ve been in and into the light are furtive…

One foot.

Two.

Three. Four.

The light stings her eyes and she looks behind her to see Lorca, covering his. Quickly she reaches for his hand, knowing immediately that he cannot see.

“Burnham, can you guide us?” he asks, wincing. The light is painful, but he will deal with it, tolerate it, if it means being unleashed from his cell.

“Yes.” She says. “I can be your eyes.”

Because Lorca led them out of the darkness. And Burnham will lead them into the light.


	7. Into the Light

**Chapter 7**

They make camp near the beach, and when dusk comes and he can see, Lorca sets about helping Burnham make a shelter for them. It is nearly dark when it’s complete; a rough lean-to set between two tall trees of unknown species. It is set back far enough from the beach so that they will not be seen, but close enough to provide access. And once darkness has come, Lorca fires the phaser into the pit he has dug filled with wood, and surrounded by rocks.

It springs to life. Fire. For warmth.

The temperature has started to fall dramatically yet again.

It has been a long day for the both of them, and they are exhausted. Quietly, Burnham and Lorca retreat into their shelter, the fire providing much needed and added warmth. One of the blankets is used to keep them off the ground, the other is a cover. She lays down beside him, and they fall asleep.

It is the first peaceful night’s rest he has had in a long time.

There is no threat hanging above them, or lurking around the corner. And for Lorca, even his demons decide to take the night off.

.

.

In the morning, she is going through the pile of supplies again. Her hands pause on the black, transparent band and she tests its strength, flexing it between her fingers. Eventually, she holds it up to the sky, the sun and she knows exactly what it is for.

“Captain, here.”

She hands it to him and he takes it. Lorca is in the lean-to, the shade providing relief for his damaged eyes.

“What do I do with it?”

“Put it on,” she tells him gently, bending it at the edges. He does and steps out…and smiles.

“Much better.”

He has a nice smile, when he’s not being condescending. Being raised on Vulcan Burnham is very much aware of the complexities of language—physical and spoken—and there have been more than a few times she has seen the captain smiling while being completely disingenuous. But this is a real smile and in it he reveals…dimples.

“What are you grinning at?”

At that, her own drops and she turns away, stepping back into the lean-to.

“Nothing. May I have a moment, sir?”

He nods and steps away, the reduction of the glare allowing him to get a better understanding of their relationship to their surroundings. While Lorca is gone, Burnham removes her shift and puts on her pajamas and steps back out. He’s gone.

“Captain?”

“Over here!” His voice rings out from the trees, and she follows the sounds deeper into the woods until she comes across him, standing at the edge of a stream.

“Fresh water,” he says, bending down and scooping some in his hand, drinking from it. She does the same.

“Now we just need food.”

They find it in a nearby orchard.

It’s perfect.

Almost too perfect.

They look at each other, each thinking the same thing. “What do you think, Burnham? Paradise, or prison,” Lorca asks.

“Sometimes, they are one and the same captain.”

.

.

“Dr. Culber, what have you found?”

They are all growing increasingly anxious. Saru waits for the report.

“For the three nights in the lead up to the Captain and Burnham’s disappearance, we received an increasing number of crew members complaining of headaches,” he says.

“There were an equal number of male and female crew with the same complaints. When we re-interviewed them, they all report having similar experiences. Sensing a presence in their rooms. Like they were being scanned and then…a headache.”

“Did we check their rooms?”

“Yes, commander. But we found no traces of the same element that was found in the Captain’s quarters or Burnham and Tilly’s.”

“Perhaps too much time had passed and it dissipated,” Tyler says.

“Hm.” Saru has his hands folded together, fingertips on his chin.

“How are we coming with the deflector dish?”

“It should be operational within another day, Commander, but…”

He hesitates. Saru sees it. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Well sir, it’s not used to track bio-signs and there’s no guarantee it will work.”

“But it is our best option, and we must take it,” Saru tells him. He nods.

.

.

“Sir? May I ask a question?”

They are in their lean-to, eating the nutrition squares. His visor is off and when he looks at her, it is with those sharp, blue eyes.

“Yes, Burnham?”

It is a question she has been pondering since they talked of it in their cell. Something that has been niggling at her a while now. They’ve been outdoors three weeks, working side-by-side, and yet they have not really spoken much…at least, not in the way they did before.

“Have you ever been in love, sir?”

At that, he pauses, raising an eyebrow. The question has caught him off-guard and he thinks of it, long and hard a moment. When he speaks, his gaze is downward.

“Yes.”

 At that, there is shame. He forces it down, exhales it.

He did what he had to do. What needed to be done. That is the excuse tells himself. It was an act of self-preservation.

_Yes._

“With…Landry?”

It is braver. Bolder. It makes him look at her sharply, but Burnham’s calm stare never wavers, and at that—he sighs. New regrets mix with old ones.

 “No. I didn’t love her, but I did…care.” The question makes him feel guilty. Guilty for the way he treated his security officer. He knows he didn’t deserve her loyalty. And he knows that she did love him. When she died, it was…almost a relief. A relief from the consequences of a situation gone too far. A relief from her loving him, something he was…is, incapable of returning.

“What is the difference?”

The difference. Caring versus love.

“You can care about many people. But you can only really love a few. Or one,” he says.

“I don’t understand.” She’s shaking her head, and he tries again, shifting a bit so that he can face her fully.

“Caring, Burnham is like having…concern, interest or even a liking that is displayed toward someone. But when you love them it is…involuntary, or rather…when you are in love with them. It’s reflexive.” It is a clumsy explanation, and Lorca knows he is not exactly the right person to try to address such matters. His experience and his views are...clouded. But he is giving it his best.

She considers it. “One is…platonic. The other …is…romantic?”

“Exactly. Like you and Tyler.”

Deflect. “Like you and…Admiral Cornwell?”

It’s met with dead silence. And when he speaks again, he’s not looking at her.

“How…did you know?” Because Burnham was not there. She didn’t see…She couldn’t possibly know what he did…

She is wise enough not to answer that. She had deduced it on her own. Saru had proposed the rescue mission. Lorca had rejected it. And she was well aware Cornwell had come to Discovery. She was also aware, through talk, of _where_ the admiral spent the night. And she is also not blind to the fact that her presence aboard his ship has caused problems for Lorca both with some of the crew and with the admiralty.

“Why didn’t you go after her, sir …if you love her?”

Self-preservation. Selfishness. Fear. Cowardice. Sometimes, love is not enough. Yet he doesn’t tell her this. Certain things have to be learned on their own, and there’s no simple explanation. No way of fully conveying the meaning through words. Because Cornwell was right. Lorca is not the man he was—he doesn’t even recognize himself anymore. These are the demons that chase him at night. What haunts his dreams.

Each face, each crew member. Their last moments. Their last agonies. But now compounded by Katrina’s face. The look of panic when he grabbed her throat, and pointed a phaser between her eyes. But worse than panic…the hurt. Sadness… _pity_.  He couldn’t take the last one. What she said to him. What he’d tried to make her ignore.  “I don’t recognize you anymore.”

He has tried everything.

Drinking it away has not worked.

Fucking it away hasn’t worked.

Working it away hasn’t worked.

And he does not cry.

Lorca has lost everything in this war. Even himself. Katrina was…is right. He is broken. In many, many ways.

“I am not the man you think I am.”

To her he confesses, in a single sentence. His personal pain. The pain he chooses to live with. Than live without. Because forgetting would feel like a far greater transgression than the ones he has already committed.

Her captain is still facing her, but not looking at her. And she has been silent a long while, listening to the words he does and does not say.  

What she feels is…powerful. But she cannot give it voice. It doesn’t have a name. Yet she knows…she…understands. The darkness. The pain. The grief, and she closes her eyes…shame. All things Burnham is intimately familiar with. It is like he is speaking to her heart.

When she opens them again, Lorca is looking right at her. His face set.

He wonders if she knows how she looks right now. Wide brown eyes, deep, like an ocean, full lips and soft skin. He remembers how she looked naked, how she looked the day he first saw her on his ship…how she looks in uniform and out of it. And how she looks now…surprisingly vulnerable…soft…womanly.

It’s the last one that catches him. He swallows.

“I know what you are, Captain,” Burnham tells him, reaching out to touch his arm. He glances down at where they are joined then back at her.

“I know _who_ you are, and I know _what_ you did.”

It was supposed to be Sarek heading into a klingon trap. It ended up being Cornwell.

That’s it for the night.

They lay down together quietly. He pulls her close to him. It’s the way they sleep now. Neither really thinks about it. It just is.

But tonight, he is restless. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Katrina’s face. And as he slips into sleep, he sees Michael’s.

Guilt. And shame.

.

.

As she slowly comes to, she feels an arm around her waist, and something hard pressing against her back.

Burnham doesn’t move.

 She doesn’t want to disturb him. But, she doesn’t have to.

“I’m not asleep.”

“It’s alright, sir. A biological response is to be expected. It is a sign of good physical health in human males,” she says, falling back into the protective cloak of logic.

Lorca groans and gets up. “I don’t need you to explain morning wood to me,” he says. It gets a blank look.

“I don’t understand the reference. Are you referring to your…” He quickly shakes his head and gets up but his blue eyes are filled with mirth as he extends a hand to her.

“Please, don’t.” Lorca turns serious again as she takes it and rises as well adjusting her shift.

“Thank you.” She turns and heads out of their shelter and he follows. “Where are you going?”

It’s mid-morning. They’ve been free from the compound now for several weeks, their little lean-to, not so little anymore. Burnham and Lorca have been busy adding to it—reinforcing the fronds with dried vines that she’s been using to lace the leaves together, weaving them in and out of the branches and creating a more secure roofing system. The middle has now been opened up and the fire pit moved inside—a system that now heats the entire space, while allowing the smoke to escape and not suffocate them.

Lorca has enclosed their shelter, building on to the other side as well, leaving an opening large enough to get in and out. It is larger now, yet still cozy. And she is very pleased with it. They’ve done well for themselves.

More exploring has also yielded more food—fish and smaller animals that Lorca has caught for them, adding to an already abundant supply of fruit.

The stream provides fresh water, and the containers they left with are perfect for storing it.

“I would like a bath,” Burnham tells him. “And our clothes need to be washed as well.” He looks at her. She’s dressed in her shift, the pajamas on the floor. But she’s also covered in dirt. He looks down at himself, dressed in his pajamas and realizes he looks the same. A lot worse, actually. A bath sounds good. Clean clothes, too.

“I’ll come with you.” It’s out before he realizes the full implication of what he said. Burnham doesn’t respond, but her eyes widen.

“Um…I can…wait until you return.”  He beats it back, fast. And she nods.

“Very well. I can take your clothes with me. They’ll be drying by the river.”

He takes off his shirt and hands it to her, giving her the formerly-white garments as well.

“I’ll hang on to the pants a little longer, if you don’t mind, Burnham.”

She shrugs and heads off to the stream and he settles back down, in thought.

From what Lorca can guess, they’ve been…wherever they are…for nearly two months now. If they were anywhere near the Discovery, the crew would have picked up their life signs which means they’re not. And aside from the small animals they’ve found, there appear to be no large predators, no sign of their captors, and no sign of any other humanoids either. It is only them.

The question of why they were taken still eludes him.

And why they were released still eludes him as well.

Why would they be taken, tortured, and released?

What is the end game? The goal? The objective of it all?

What is the meaning? Is that it? What it all comes down to? The meaning of the experience? He does not accept that there is none. There has to be a point. A purpose. He just needs to find what it is.

The sun is beginning to set, and Lorca realizes Burnham has been gone for a while now. He gets up to go look for her.

The path to the stream is littered with downed leaves, soft on his feet and as he gets closer, he hears the sound of babbling water, and a splash…

A few feet later, he stops.

And stares.

Found her.

Their clothes are drying on rocks nearby and Burnham is standing in the middle of the water, naked. She dips down and comes back up, the water rolling off her in waves, down the curve of her back, her breasts… his body reacts.

She’s the only woman here. He’s the only man.

Quietly, carefully, Lorca backs away, trying not to disturb her. To not let her know he’s been watching…

His foot lands on a twig.

Snap.

 Burnham dips below the water again.

“Captain?”

“It’s me,” he steps out from behind a tree, trying to appear as if he’s just come upon her for the first time. Burnham looks at him with those dark eyes that make him feel as if she sees right through him. She’s quiet, covering her chest.

“Could you pass me my dress, sir?”

He does, turning his head away as she rises out of the water.

When he does look again, she’s clothed. Her body covered. Barely. The dress clings…somewhat translucent against her skin…highlighting much more than it disguises…

“I’ll prepare food for us,” she tells him, gathering their things, but leaving clean pants for him, behind.

Lorca nods.

“I’ll be there…soon.”

Burnham walks away and he strips off his pants, carrying them with him into the cold water.

When it hits, he shivers, and closes his eyes.

It’s exactly what he needs to tamp down the flame of desire that seems to keep growing of its own design with every single day, and night, that passes.

.

.

It’s dark when he arrives back at their small camp. Burnham has a fire going, and Lorca drapes his wet pants on a nearby branch, and comes into their shelter. The nutrition squares have long been consumed, and she quietly hands him a piece of fruit. He takes it and settles down next to her.

The flames cast shadows on their leafed walls and when he looks at Burnham again, he’s taken by the curve of her jaw, the delicate point of her chin. Full lips, high cheekbones…it is not the first time he has thought her beautiful.

“What are you staring at, Captain?” The voice is level. Low. Huskier, he thinks. Or maybe that’s just his imagination. She’s still looking into the fire, not at him.

“You.”

A simple statement. A complicated meaning.

Slowly, her head turns to look at him, and he holds her gaze.

“Let’s go to bed.”


	8. Loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the most wonderful human in the word, SpockLikesCats, whose awesome works can be read at: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2061512/SpockLikesCats

_She’s dreaming._

_The night is cool, but her body is on fire, and her sleep is fitful. Uncomfortable. Like the heat and wetness between her thighs. The throb low in her belly._

_She wants him._

_Lorca moves against her back, his arm pulling her closer, and she arches into his touch, the curve of his body. He’s held her like this many nights before…but tonight feels different._

_It is different._

_She knows he was watching her bathe. And she also knows he was watching her shower. It would be a lie to say she was not…aroused…by the heat of his stare. And she already knows his touch._

_But her mind and her body are at war._

_He pulls her closer, his breath tickling the back of her neck. Her ass brushes against something…hard. She feels it twitch, and shifts again, running her legs together._

 

He’s wide wake and at attention.

Her movements are slow.

Seductive.

He’s not sure whether she’s awake or dreaming, and he’s hesitant to move…but she keeps… _doing_ what she’s doing and it’s increasingly difficult for him to stop thinking about what _he_ really wants to be doing with her…

Carefully, slowly, he runs his hand down her side to her hips. It rests there as he presses against her, longingly.

A moan.

 “Michael?” He whispers.

A request.  

Permission?

She doesn’t answer, but she does move, turning her head just so, to expose the long curve of her neck…

It’s where his mouth goes. A restrained kiss.

Another moan.

“Michael?”

The shift dress has twisted, crept up her thighs leaving her legs bare.  His hands want to slip under it, and raise it further...Still no answer…she’s deeply asleep. One hand slides around her waist, pulling the hem back down. His fingers skim against her skin.

_She gasps, trembling at his touch._

_Unlike anything she has ever felt before. She didn’t know this is what it was…what it is like._

_“Please…” the sultry voice is not unlike her own, but something she doesn’t recognize. It is confirmation. He accepts the invitation._

 

There is no one to save him now. She’s dreaming, but unlike himself, deep in sleep. Or maybe she _is_ awake…maybe she is awake and just can’t answer…won’t answer…for the love of all that is decent in the universe he _needs_ an answer…

Another moan.

She shifts again brushing against him and his pants are tight. Way too tight…and will she stop? He needs her too…but doesn’t want her too…maybe, if he just readjusts…

It’s her hands he feels next, reaching down… He can only squeeze her, silently plead with her to _please_ wake up…because he wants her more than anything.

“Burnham…Burnham, please…”

Because he can’t. And he won’t. Not…this way…

 

_Michael…_

_Michael…_

 

“Michael.”

She wakes suddenly, overcome by intense arousal doused with mortification. It takes a long while for her body to stop shaking, stop…vibrating…. And she’s confused.

Her breathing is hitched…ragged…and as she comes down…she becomes aware of…more…of…something else. Someone else…Lorca’s breath warm against her neck…and their bodies are so close…so very, very close…and she realizes where his hands are.

“Michael?”

Oh no…no…what has she done? Her heart races and she swallows, squeezing her eyes shut. What did they do? She cannot move. Just shakes her head quickly, her body now tense, flush with the heat of shame.

He feels it. Feels something has changed and he thinks he knows but…

“Michael, look at me.”

“I…”

Words fail.

“Please, look at me.” His voice is gentle, coaxing, like talking to a frightened child. He tries to make her feel better.

But she can’t. So gently, he takes her chin and turns her face toward his. Her body follows and they face each other. Rough skin meets soft. Brown meets blue, dark meets light. Their lips touch.

The kiss is loving. Kind. Soft… reassuring.  

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

And he does.

Because even though he wanted too, he didn’t.

And thank whatever god is listening for allowing him to maintain that last shred of self-control…because it’s in her face, her eyes. That she’s nervous. And scared. And wanting and…all those things that he has seen but never all at once, and Lorca knows…her body told him loud and clear, even if she never uttered a word.

“I’m here when you’re ready,” he tells her, brushing her cheek with a finger. Finding her lips again. “And I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Because she’s his.

Quietly, she nods, her eyes breaking from his to bury her face in his chest. It’s still cold outside. But inside their little home, it’s warm. Hot.

_._

_._

It’s Dr. Culber who has the first clue as to the “why” of it all.

And it only comes once he’s reviewed all of the statements, and begins to see a pattern.

Relationships.

Either sexual. Or intimate. Or…wishful.

But all are relationships of varying degrees.

He sits back in his chair in the medical bay, weighing what it means.

“Paul,” he says that night, as his partner readies for bed. “I have a… question.”

“Ask away,” Stamets says, leaving the bathroom and wandering in to their chambers. He climbs into bed beside Culber.

“Did you notice any sort of…relationship….between Lorca and Burnham?”

“What sort of relationship? Other than the one Lorca has with the rest of us--Overlord/peon?” he scoffs.

“That’s…not exactly what I mean,” Culber offers.

But it has caught Stamets’ attention. “Are you suggesting they were… _involved_?” He shakes his head and laughs.  

“I’m not sure what I’m suggesting,” the doctor says. “But I found a pattern with the others who were affected by headaches and all of them were involved in some way.”

“Well, I think I can safely say the only person Lorca loves is himself. And does Burnham even knows what that is? Do Vulcans even teach sex ed?”  Stamets’ pauses a moment, thinking…then shudders. “It doesn’t sound like fun.”

Culber sighs. “Nevermind.”

A hand trails down his chest. He rolls over.

“Thank the makers we’re not Vulcans,” he whispers to Paul, accepting the kiss that follows.

.

.

“What is the progress with the deflector array?” Saru asks tersely. Everyone in the briefing room is tense. Tyler appears to be trying to hold it together but Tilly can tell…he’s worried. There are deep circles under his eyes and he’s agitated. One leg won’t stop jumping.

“Ready to bring it online at your command sir,” she says, giving her friend a reassuring pat on the knee. He looks at her with a tight smile.

“Good. Activate immediately. Let’s see what we get,” their commander tells them. “Tyler, monitor for any anomalies with Tilly. The first person to see something, say something. Dismissed.”

They rise.

Tilly comes up to Tyler afterward.

“Lieutenant,” she lays a hand on his arm, stopping them in the hall. “We’ll find them. Burnham is smart. She’s a survivor. Captain Lorca is too. They’ll be alright.”

He just nods, and walks off. She watches his retreat a moment, and with a sigh, starts moving toward engineering.

“Cadet, may I have a moment?”

It’s Dr. Culber. At the sound of his voice, she stops and turns to him.

“Yes, sir?”

“I...have a question I’d like to ask you,” he says, falling into step with her. “Would you mind coming to the medical bay a moment? It’s about the…” His voice drops as a group of officers walk toward them.

“…disappearance.”  It’s all the talk on the ship these days.

She follows Culber into the medical bay and into his office. The doors swoosh closed and when he’s satisfied they’re soundproof, he asks.

“Do you know if the Captain and Burnham were…involved?”

At that, Tilly shifts a bit in her seat and looks uncomfortable.

“Why would you say that? It would be inappropriate for the Captain to have a relationship with a subordinate under his command. Starfleet regulations--”

“I’m not talking about Starfleet regulations. And Burnham is a prisoner, not an officer. You’re stalling,  Cadet.”

“Um…I’m not sure how to answer the question.”

He raises an eyebrow at that.

“Explain.”

“Well, I mean…Burnham and Lieutenant Tyler are ‘dating’? And I don’t think Michael would…”

“But given the chance and opportunity…do you think the _Captain_ would?”

Because it’s really what it all comes down to.

What Lorca would and would not do.

“Do you remember Commander Landry?” Tilly whispers, looking around them furtively. The place they are in is still soundproofed, but the walls are clear.

He does.

Culber leans back into his chair. He too, had been aware of the chatter, electing to ignore it. The sightings. Landry coming out of Lorca’s quarters. There was a speculation but never hard proof. “She was jealous when Burnham came,” Tilly tells him.  “I could see that. Everyone could. I mean…it was obvious.”

Obvious.

That when Burnham set foot on their ship, everything changed. Shifted. As did Lorca’s…attention.

“That’ll be all, Cadet. Thank you. Please keep this in your confidence,” he tells her.

 She nods.

He thinks he now knows exactly why Burnham and Lorca were taken and he turns to pull up the medical files on the Captain and their mutineer. Silently, he starts running cross references, comparing them, and the other 30 potential victims he has on hand. He wants to be sure he’s right, before he goes any further.

.

.

Tilly finds Tyler in the gym, murdering an innocent punching bag in a series of flying fists and legs.

“It didn’t do anything to you,” she says quietly.

 He stops at her voice, leaning down to catch his breath a moment before standing.

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the towel in her hand.

“You’re welcome. Here.”

Water accompanies the towel.

“Times two. What brings you here?” He asks, brushing past her and walking out and down the hall. Tilly follows.

“I can’t stop thinking about the Captain and Michael,” she says. He groans in irritated. She’s not alone in that. He can’t stop thinking about them either, but he’s sure what he’s thinking is the wrong thing. Still…the thoughts plague him in his sleep and in his waking moments, and the longer Burnham is gone…the more his agitation grows.

“You said something the other day,” Tyler says looking down at Tilly.

 “What?” She asks.

“When you were talking about how much Lorca loves this ship.” He exhales deeply, debating whether he should say what he’s been feeling aloud.

“I think he loved something more.”

“What?” Tilly’s eyes are wide. Innocent, he thinks. She’s a sweet girl. Naïve. But sweet.

“Nevermind. I’m just talking. Don’t mind me. This is messing with us all.” A pass. He goes to walk off but Tilly catches his arm again.

“I’m not dumb, Lieutenant. I know how it comes off. But I’m not. You think the Captain loves Burnham.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t just think so,” he says, recalling the moments when Lorca would glare at him when he got close to her… “Look. She committed mutiny. He committed murder. They’re more alike than they are different, and everyone around us knows it, but no one will say it aloud—Lorca treats Burnham like precious glass.”

Because Lorca told him directly—bring her back…or don’t come back at all.

And it was as much a threat as it was a promise.

Tilly shifts uncomfortably under his stare, hesitating. “Well…some people think there’s a connection,” it comes tumbling out. But at the look on Tyler’s face, she tries to clean it up fast.  “But, I mean…it’s obvious to me, Michael liked you—LIKES you.”

Tyler gives her a sad smile. “I like her too. But I don’t know if liking would be enough.”

.

.

The morning finds them curled around each other. Awareness comes slowly. And she struggles to remember if last night was real or just a dream…perhaps she was dreaming….she thinks….until her eyes open and she realizes she’s lying on her captain.

Lorca is still, his breathing deep, even. It is the calmest she has ever seen him. There’s no tension in his face, and everything about him is…relaxed.

Gently, she touches…his lips…his chin…his eyes. He stirs, but does not wake. Instead, he squeezes her closer to him.

Quietly, she waits until his grip relaxes and delicately, she removes his arms from around her body in order to get up. Still, he does not wake.

The short walk down to the stream is filled with anxiety, her hands trembling... and when she takes off her shift and carries it into the water, the cold is like a jolt to her body, bringing the events of last night into sharp focus.

She flushes with the heat of it. The memory of it. It was only a dream,

There is no use to ask why. She knows the why of it already. And Burnham has never lied to herself.

She _wanted_ to. ~~~~

There is rustling from near the trees and she turns as Lorca approaches. There’s nowhere for her to hide. Not that there’s a purpose for that any longer.

They can’t pretend anymore.

“I see you.”

Of course he does. The visor, as they have determined that is what the transparent, black band is, allows him to see despite the light.

They watch each other warily, assessing. It is Lorca who moves first, taking off his shirt, then his pants, before stepping in and making his way over to her.

“Why did you leave? Did I do something…wrong?” He looks genuinely concerned, brow furrowed, lips turned down and she shakes her head as he gets close and comes to stand before her, looking into her face. She blinks and looks away, suddenly self-conscious in the moment. All of this is new and there is no roadmap, no guide. She knows human biology—there were texts to learn, memorize, but what she does not know, or understand as much, is sexuality. It was not openly spoken of on Vulcan and what little she does know has been through observation of her associates…which has not been much. She is an officer. A human raised Vulcan—“other” on that world and in this one and while her foster mother had told her fairy tales and tried to turn her attentions from the ways of Surak-- nothing in her girlish books or teenage dreams ever really prepared her for this.

The most she’s ever had is a kiss. And his are far different.

He takes her chin in hand and raises her face to his.

“No, Captain, you did not.”  Formality is the fallback when nothing else will do.

At that word, he winces, and touches her face gently.

“I’m not your Captain, Michael. Not anymore. Not after last night.  Call me Gabriel.”

Gabriel.

 Last night. There’s a pulsing sensation that shoots low in her belly, making her legs tremble and go weak; he catches her before she falls.

Michael looks into his face, raising her hand to trace his eyebrows, his cheeks, his chin. He hasn’t been able to shave, and his jaw is covered with a thick, dark beard sprinkled with gray. Carefully, she removes the visor, and shields his eyes with her hand, so she can see them, a bright, clear blue, matching the sky. It is a lovely contrast, she thinks…the darkness and the light, played out on his face. Her fingers grace the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, around his jaw, near his lips.

At her touch, his lips curl into a smile and he wraps her into his arms as he lowers his face to hers.

She meets him in a kiss.

Tentative, at first, but growing more confident as he guides them. It is different, she thinks, from what she has felt before with Ash. Gabriel makes her feel free.  And when he lets her up for breath, Michael smiles.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long time,” he tells her, touching the corner of her mouth, and  making her laugh. “And that’s best thing I’ve heard in equally as long.”  His laughter is low and deep, and she can feel it rumble through him and vibrate into her palm, against his chest. It’s been a long time since she has laughed. And it’s different now. Deeper. More full. Huskier, Similar to her voice but more…happy? Is that what she is? Happy?

She has known sadness. Defeat. Hurt. And pain…but not since she was a child, barely old enough to remember, has she known _real_ happiness. But the flutter in her chest, and the fullness in her heart lets her know that this…is as close to it as she has come in a very, very long time.

She can be happy here. She can be _free_ , here.

 

It’s a daring thought. Defiant against their odds, and their circumstances, but she chooses to grab it—hold on to it, believe in it and when she looks at Gabriel, she smiles again, this time a  shining, glorious grin that lights up her entire face and she wraps her arms around his neck. They stand there, together in the water, just holding each other, feeling each other, enjoying the warmth and all the things that are flowing between them.

“Michael,” he looks down at her again, and she looks at him.

“Yes?”

A brush of a curl away from her face, and kisses her forehead.

“I want you.”

A confession.

It makes her tingle all over. The words shimmer in her mind. Her chest tightens. Understanding. It’s always been there. From the first time she saw him, to every time she sees him. The way he’s defended her, taken her in, protected her from Starfleet, from their captors, kept her safe, trusting her. Believing her. Believing _in_ her.

Lorca…no—Gabriel, has always been there.

 “You said I’d know it when it happens,” she says, mulling his words, touching his chest, her fingers grazing the hair here.

“Um hmm.”

He slides the ring off his finger, and takes one of her hands in his, putting it on her thumb.

“You were meant to Captain a ship,” he tells her, watching her face. Pretty brown eyes go wide, her mouth opens.

“I can’t give you one. But what I can give you is me, if you’ll have me.”

It’s his ring. His captain’s ring. The one he’s worn since his first commission aboard the Buran. The one all captains receive upon getting the call. It is the one thing he values most.

Or, it was. Because it’s now on the hand of the one _person_ he values above all others.

HER.

“Yes.” She says to the question he doesn’t ask aloud.

The response is as welcome as rain in a desert.

Like sins washed away.

And for the first time in….he cannot remember when, he feels whole.

“We can start over here, Michael. Create something new, for ourselves only. Do you want that?”

Because here, there is no war. No ghosts to haunt their dreams. No pasts to dwell on. Or failures to chase them into the night. Only a fresh start. A new beginning. And there is no more questioning of why it came to be. It’s now about how to make the best of their private little paradise.

She nods.

“Let’s go home,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her out of the water.

.

.

 “I’ve never done this before.”

It comes out low. Barely above a murmur. But he still hears it. This doesn’t surprise him. It’s why he’s stopped himself time and time again…on the ship…off it. He saw it—saw that purity, the innocence still, despite everything else about her.

He doesn’t ask about Tyler. The answer there, clear.

“Let me guide you.”

What she is giving him is a gift. Something more valuable than any object, and something to be treated as precious. It’s been a long time. A long time since he has desired something, someone, so fully.

It’s been a long time since someone he valued, valued and trusted him back.

 Carefully, he lays her down against their soft bed of knitted fronds and a blanket, and kisses her face. Her lips. Her neck. Her chest…and her breasts…perfect and rounded, their peaks beckoning. To them he goes, taking them gently in his mouth, his teeth, watching her face the entire time.

She shudders, arching into the sensations. What he’s doing with her body. She bites her lip to muffle the sounds that threaten to break through as her lover takes his time, lavishing attention on her…

Hands part brown thighs and his head dips below and between.

At the first pass she startles, gasping, the twitch of her hips involuntary. Her fingers grip his hair and she tries to push him back, eyes wide with shock at what he’s doing, where he’s doing it.

“Shh…it’s okay….”

One kiss against the inside of her left thigh. One on the right.

“Capt---”

“Gabriel,” he corrects. “Relax, Michael. Try, for me.”

Reassuring. Calm.

Shaking, she tries, closing her eyes…trying to breathe…and when he dips down again, his tongue in that place, cries out and trembles, hands against his shoulders. But this time, he doesn’t stop. Just keeps going, his mouth pressed against her center, his tongue in motion against her sex. Stirring her…enticing her…drawing out something more.

As his fingers join his tongue, her body begins to override her mind. Acting on its own and she arches into the touch, the sounds that come from her…choked…resisting something. The inevitable.

 

He watches in fascination.

The struggle—release or control…and control beginning to slip away. He wants it to go. Wants to see her, fully—unguarded. He wants to know her, and he will.  She’s ready. Her body is, at least, and it’s what he needs for her to be as he makes his way back up, hovering, parting her legs with his.

“Look at me, Michael,” a low rumble as he kisses her face, her lips…her neck.

“Hold on to me.”

 

 She does, wincing as he starts to move…

What she prepared for was pain. But what she feels is…

….each stinging thrust going deeper, growing with more urgency….and she can only hold on as he takes her body, forcing sounds from her lips she’s never made before...giving her entirely new sensations. Pain slowly fades, replaced by something else. And when her fingernails scratch down his back, and her husky moans grow louder in his ear…he knows what she’s feeling…it’s all around him as she whispers the word he desperately wants to hear…

“ _More.”_

The sounds of lovemaking fill their little home, their climax carries on the wind.

High above them in the sky, the veil that has kept the planet shrouded, is lifted.


	9. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edited by SpockLikesCats!
> 
> BTW--After last night's episode, maybe I buy Tyler/Burnham a wee bit more.

**Chapter 9**

“Is this what love feels like?”

His eyes flutter open at her words, and he looks down at her head on his chest, one leg draped across his.

Gabriel smiles, placing a lazy kiss on her forehead.

“I love you too.” He has her heart. And he has her body.

She adjusts herself to look at him.

 “I don’t want to go back.”

 “I’m not sure we ever will.”

Her fingers play across his chest. He squeezes her shoulders.  “But if it happens, I won’t give you back to Starfleet.”

And he means it.

She’s a prisoner of the body. He’s a prisoner of the mind. But he will never allow her to go back to a cell. 

She’s his and his alone.

A yawn, and a stretch.

The ache between her legs makes her wince. But it’s a good pain. A memory. There’s no guilt. No battle of conscience. No shame or fear.

For the first time that she can remember, Michael is…content. And that’s really all that matters now.

.

.

Tilly comes running onto the bridge, breathless. “Commander! We got something!”

Saru stands.

“Yes?”

“We found traces of the same elements that were in the Captain’s room. Lieutenant Stamets is bringing the visuals online for us.”

She points to the view screen. Saru moves to the chair and activates the comm.

“Lieutenant—what do you have?”

“Commander…it’s a trail of some sort… Activate the viewer. I think we have it.”

The screen appears. Before them, spreads a trail…little flicks of red, and blue, white, purple, green. Colors standing out against the stars and the blackness in the shape of a beam.

“Exactly what are we looking at, Lieutenant?” Saru is growing impatient.

“What you’re looking at, Commander, are the same particles we found in Lorca and Burnham’s quarters. The dish is picking them up. It’s like… a trail of breadcrumbs.”

Breadcrumbs…

“Then follow them,” Saru nods at the pilot, and the ship begins to change course.

“Hopefully, Burnham and the captain will be at the end of this trail.”

Hopefully.

.

.

There’s no point in trying to keep track of nights. Or days. And so they stop trying. Instead, they focus on each other.

Michael’s learning. And Gabriel is her teacher.

He holds her hips as she moves on his lap, arms around his neck. She bites her lip and moans, head back. His mouth works her breasts. And when she clenches around him in orgasm, it makes them both fall apart. 

A wife. A friend. A lover. A partner.

Everything.

And in the post-coital, he tells her everything, and doesn’t realize there are tears on his face until her fingers brush them away.

“I failed them,” he says. “They all deserved better than what I gave them.”

 “No, you didn’t,” she says firmly. “You _saved_ your crew.” It’s earnest. Sincere. The words he needed to hear. Someone else to tell him that the call he made was the right one.

A rueful smile. A soft touch.

“And you started a war,” he tells Michael, stroking her face, as they lay side-by-side, “to prevent one. Georgiou should have listened to you.”

Here, they are alone. Starfleet is a million miles away.

.

.

He is out already, hunting. And she rises too, slipping on her shift dress, and making her way outside. The sun is high overhead, mid-morning, and the day, clear. Perfect, really. There has not been a flawed one. The nights have been warmer lately as well. She smiles at that. Everything feels…different now. She feels…alive. Like she woke up from a coma and is just now beginning to breathe on her own again.

She hears the rustling of the leaves, and the sound of his footfalls before Gabriel breaks through the clearing. Seeing her, he smiles and walks up, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. She kisses him too.

They’re happy in their little place.

The place she wants to stay in forever.

Like Adam. And Eve.

Actually…she’s been thinking about that lately. About what happens when one of them dies. And one is left behind.

The thought brings with it a physical pain. And each time it crosses her mind, it hurts, making her eyes water. Like they do now.

It must be the way she’s looking at him.

Gabriel looks at her, his brow furrowed. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

It gets a soft smile. “Nothing. What did you find?”

She’s tried to brush it off, but by now, he knows her moods. Knows her in a way most don’t. He can tell.

“Michael…”

It’s the tone. The Captain he can’t quite shake. A holdover from their old roles.

“I promise, it’s nothing. I was just…thinking about the future.”

The future.

He studies her face, those dark eyes like pools, searching them. Finally, he backs down. She’ll speak it when she feels like it’s time.

“I’m going to the grove,” she tells him, pulling away from his grasp and walking off toward the orchard.

“I’ll have it skinned when you get back.” _It_ being one of the rabbit-like creatures that, roasted, makes a very good dinner.

As Michael walks off, Gabriel gets to work, settling down on the ground in front of their shelter and using a sharpened rock to peel back the skin, gutting and fileting. Michael, he knows, can’t stand this part. She was vegetarian—until the events that brought them together. And they need protein, not just fruit, to sustain them.

He laughs quietly, remembering the first time he fed her meat.

 The look on her face, the scrunching of her nose, and pursing of lips—he’d laughed long and hard at that, and she’d been so offended! But it was funny. Less funny, though, was the first time she’d actually seen the skinning process in action.

“It is cruel to do this to another living creature,” she’d told him.

“It would be cruel if it were still alive, Burnham,” he’d said, steadily working on the task at hand. These things did not faze him, having grown up hunting and finishing. “We only kill what we need. And no more.”

She had understood, though she didn’t like it. It was about survival, after all. And both of them were…are, survivors. They do what they must.

Strange, how that now seems like forever ago.

He figures they have been outside now for several months. And now, they are contemplating years.

_Years._

He has more of those behind him than before him. And she has decades left to go. Science has gotten humanity further, but here—who can tell? Maybe he has 50 more…Maybe 30. But Michael is younger, and women still live longer. If he were to die before her, she would be left alone. Both of them have been lonely, and it’s not something they want to feel again.

There’s a rustling in the trees and he looks up to see her approaching, fresh fruit collected in the fabric of her dress. At that, he grins. She’s using her shift as a basket, holding up the front and giving him a lovely view of her thighs. Long, and lean, and what’s between them he’s now intimately familiar with.

He gets up and goes to her.

“Need a few hands?”

A wiggle of the fingers and a wag of the eyebrows. She giggles and goes into their home, sitting down and carefully stacking the fruit against the wall in the section they use to keep their food. She reserves two pieces and comes back outside with them in hand.

“Gabriel, do you have the knife?” The knife he used to skin the animal. He nods and wipes if off before handing it to her, and she settles down beside him and begins peeling away. It’s quick. The fruit is sliced and added to the pieces of meat he’s already placed on wooden sticks, making rudimentary _kebabs_ for them.

They go inside and light the fire in the pit, placing the food above it to cook.

For him, waiting is always the hardest part. And sure enough, his stomach rumbles.

Michael laughs.

“Thank goodness we have so much food,” she tells him. “I’d be worried you’d eat _me_ , if you could. You’re always hungry.”

She’s right on that. Even on Discovery, he was always eating something. It’s partly why he kept a bowl of fortune cookies in his ready room.  Lorca grins, a wide, lascivious grin and scoots closer, leaning over to run a hand up her thigh.

“Well…if you’re offering, I could use an appetizer.”

She smiles and lays back, beckoning to him with a finger, as he slips up her body and between her thighs, pulling her dress up and off, leaving her naked and exposed. Now, though, she no longer hides her body from him. And she revels in his admiration of it. As she revels in his.

When they finally come down, they’re breathing hard.

“Where’d you learn that from?” he tells her, panting against her chest.

“I had a good teacher,” she says, kissing his forehead. Gabriel laughs and rolls over with a grunt and an exaggerated groan.

“I think I pulled something.”

She gives him a light punch to the arm and lies down against his him, her fingers trailing down his chest, following the dark line of hair that goes down his stomach. He jumps and wraps a hand around her wrist, stilling her.

A kiss on the forehead and she closes her eyes and rests. They enjoy the silence. The warmth.

Before them, the fire crackles, and the smell of food begins to permeate the room.

After a while, he moves again and she slides off so he can pull their dinner off the fire. He holds out the stick of lightly charred fruit and meat and she takes it, sitting up.

Their quiet is companionable, not awkward as they eat. And when they’re done, they lay back down and Michael curls back up against him. Gabriel pulls the blanket up around them and rubs her back.

It’s soothing.

She’s secure. Safe. Here. With him. Just the two of them.

The two of them.

The thought comes again, uninvited and it makes her tremble. What happens when there’s just one?

She doesn’t want to leave him alone. Nor does she want to be left behind.

“What’s wrong, Michael?” He doesn’t have to open his eyes. He feels the shaking of her shoulders. The tension in them. He knows now, when something is bothering her. Just like it was earlier in the day.

 “I don’t want you to leave me.”  It’s quiet.  An adopted child, a ward not a full member, alone on a strange planet. Her own parents killed. Even now she barely remembers their faces, just their names. Her family, gone.

Gabriel is her family now. Her only family. And the thought she could lose him is terrifying. She’s spent a lifetime by herself. She doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

He rests his head on hers, thinking deeply.  She’s given what he’s been feeling a voice.

“I don’t want to leave you, either.” But eventually, he knows he will. Maybe not tomorrow. Or the next day. Not the next month or the next year, but eventually…it’s biological. They all have a sunset date.

Yet, while death is unavoidable, life is natural. She doesn’t have to be alone. And there is something he can do to make sure she’s not.

It’s something he sacrificed for a career in Starfleet. Something he never really considered. But it’s now a real possibility with the woman in his arms. She will need someone when he’s gone. It is a practical decision, he tells himself. He is likely to die sooner than she will, and he doesn’t want her to be lonely. It is the logical thing to do.

“Do you want a family, Michael?” He asks, carefully, looking down into those big brown eyes that have captivated him since the first time he saw her. “Do you want me to give you a family?

 

.

.

“Look! Full stop!”

The thrusters power down, and they all look at where Saru’s long fingers point.

A planet. Seemingly emerging from nowhere.

It’s been five weeks since Burnham and the Captain disappeared. They’ve covered millions of miles, followed the trail that has led them…here. An uncharted world.

“Scan for life signs!” Saru commands and the probes are sent out.

Tilly and Tyler look on anxiously.

Time passes slowly. Or what feels like slowly.

“Commander, we’re picking up two humanoid life forms.”

“Two? Only two? Are you sure?”  Saru says, staring out of the viewer and down at the spinning blue ball before them.

“Just two, sir.”

 “A planet that large…and only two,” he muses.

 “Tyler—Tilly. You’re together on the shuttle. Bring Dr. Culber with you. You’ll be the landing party. We’ll set you down a few miles away from where they are. If it’s Burnham and Lorca...” He looks at them.

“We’ll bring them back, Commander,” Tilly says.

“Good. Prepare to launch.”

.

.

As soon as their shuttle touches down, Tyler gives the order.

“We’ll split up in different directions,” he says. “Radio when you have something, and be on guard.” He takes a look around them. The planet is quiet. Tranquil. But it’s too quiet. Too tranquil. Too…something else he can’t quite put his finger on…

Perfect. That’s what it is. Too perfect. They are in what feels like a forest. But it’s eerily silent.

There should be life in a forest. Not just flora. Even the air is still.

“Yes, sir,” Tilly says, heading off in one direction. Dr. Culber nods and heads off in another and Tyler strikes out on his own, taking tricorder readings of everything around him. They will chart as they work, and hopefully, the payoff will be the return of Burnham. Lorca…well…he shakes it off. The both of them are the priority. His mind is playing tricks on him. Has been playing tricks on him.

The device begins to record, and he kneels, taking soil samples. Leaf samples. Inputting all of the data.

“Where are you, Michael?” he says, not realizing he’s speaking aloud.

.

.

She’s in the stream, bathing, lost in thought when she feels him behind her. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to. It’s in the way he wraps his arms around her waist, the way his lips feel when they go to the back of her neck. She smiles.

“I was wondering when you’d make your way over,” she says.

“Eventually. I’m not much of a morning person,” he murmurs, mouth on the base of her neck, lazily dragging his lips to her shoulder…tongue trailing up the side of her neck.

“Mmm….” She leans into the touch. He knows where to kiss her, how to touch her, to get what he wants. Casually, one arm reaches up and back to pull his head town, stretching against him and arching just so…because she knows how to touch to get what she wants too…

Slowly one arm slides down her stomach and between her legs, finding her spot, while the other goes up, across her chest, a large hand squeezing, kneading her breast.

She finds his mouth.

They love like this….

.

.

Tilly is walking slowly, carefully, scanning in all directions when her tricorder starts to light up.

“Yes!” Then promptly quiets herself. If they’re around, she doesn’t want to scare them, and if there’s anything other than Michael and Burnham around, she doesn’t want to disturb it…or them…should it/they turn out to be hostile. Whatever it is, though, she knows she’s close. And so she focuses, watching her steps, and following the signs. It’s like a game almost…a faster blink when she’s on the right track, slower blink when she veers off in the wrong direction.

Tilly has always enjoyed games. And treating this as such takes away some of the anxiety she’s been feeling, replaced with a new hope that she’ll find her friend. That she’ll see Michael again and that everything will be okay, and it will all go back to the way it used to be and that Tyler will stop fretting all over the place and—

The clearing opens before her suddenly, from out of nowhere, and she looks up in complete surprise. Followed immediately by…shock.

Her eyes blink several times, and she covers her mouth so as not to make a noise. This can’t be real.

Her captain is standing in the water, naked, his back to her and she can see the ripple of muscle under skin as he moves head down. He turns slightly and when he does, Michael comes into view, also naked, her body arched against his and Tilly can see _everything._ Where his hands are. Where hers are. What they’re doing…

Eyes dart to the left. To the right, but there’s no one on either side…just the two people in front of her. Standing in the middle of the stream naked…And very much not paying attention to anything except each other.

“Fuck.” It’s a whisper.

Which is exactly what they’re doing in the water.

Quietly, and slowly, Tilly backs up until she’s out of sight again, hiding behind a fallen log several feet away, praying they won’t see her.

But she’s still close enough to hear everything.

And she cannot un-see what she just saw either. All she can do is wait until they finish, and try to figure out how she’s going to let them know she, Tyler and Culber are here. Maybe she should go find them, and come back later. If Captain Lorca and Michael are here…that means they won’t travel very far should they disappear.

Tilly crawls a few feet until she feels comfortable that she’s at a safe distance, then stands and heads off in the direction of the shuttle.

“Tilly to Dr. Culber and Tyler.”

“Culber here.”

“Tyler here.”

“Um, I … I found them.”

.

.

“How will we know?” She asks as they lie in the sun on the bank afterward. His hands are stroking her back, fingers pulling at the curls in her hair.

It is a good question.

So far, she hasn’t experienced any sort of cycle—something that is stopped with the contraceptives Starfleet administers yearly. And while she knows she received the shot in April, there’s no longer any way of knowing what month it is now. 

“I suppose if you start growing,” he tells her, the hand in her hair slipping down to touch her stomach, still flat. Michael turns over to look down at him. Gabriel is wearing his visor, still, but he gives her the little smirk she likes. It gets a tiny smile in return.

“I am curious about what it will be like,” she muses, her hand coming to rest on his on her belly.

“Do you think they are looking for us?” she asks.

“Hmmm…I hope not,” he tells her. “I doubt Starfleet would miss me that much, and you, well…it may be for the best that we’re both gone.”

Because he knows his appointment to Discovery was not without controversy among the admiralty. And he also knows he largely had Katrina to thank for it. He never should have gotten another ship. And even among other captains, he’s an outcast. A black sheep. The man that didn’t go down with his ship. Some argue his actions were admirable, to others, he’s a coward. But none of that matters much now. And he knows what he did. Why he did it. And he also knows it was the only move he could have made. At least he took several hundred Klingons down as well. Yes, lives were lost. But he feels it was better for his crew to die in battle than torturously, in a Klingon prison camp. And he will never apologize for that choice.  Even if it’s turned him into a pariah among his peers.

Funny, how those who had criticized him so heavily then prayed for his and Discovery’s relief when they’d come to save them.

And with Michael gone too…well…that could only be double the relief. Two of Starfleet’s biggest problems, disappeared. Like magic. No headaches. No dirty loose ends.

It’s a lot better this way. No one to miss them. No one to grieve their loss.

The sun is setting, and she shivers against his body.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

He shifts, and she moves off him, sitting up. He stands and pulls her up with him.

“Time to go home. Warm up.”

Gabriel slips on pants, Michael wraps herself up in the blanket and they make their way back to their little shelter. When they approach, he takes the time to examine it.

They’ve done quite well for themselves, he thinks. The structure is far larger now, but when, not if, they add to their family…

“Come with me for a moment?”

She nods walking beside him as they circle the structure.

“We could open it up here,” he says, pointing, “and expand this section. It would give us more room…”

More room. For three, instead of two.

.

.

“Something isn’t right with this planet,” Tyler says as soon as everyone is gathered back at the shuttle.

“I agree, Lieutenant,” Dr. Culber says. “I’ve picked up some highly unusual readings.”

Like the heat source. Mechanical, from what his sensors have found, when it should be geothermal. No class M planet has a mechanical heat source. That, coupled with no animal life, is a red flag. 

“Screw the planet,” Tilly says. “I found them.”

 “Where?” Tyler asks, attention diverted. “How are they? Are they waiting for us? Is Michael alright?”

“Um…” She deflects a bit. “I didn’t want to disturb them. They didn’t see me, but they’re this way. Come on.”

They go. Tilly guides them back to the bank of the stream with Culber taking readings. “The water is pure,” he says, frowning. No microbes, no nothing. A perfect, distilled form of hydrogen and carbon. Even the federation has not achieved this level of purity.

Tilly continues walking, following her tricorder, Tyler next to her.

“Where are they?” he asks impatiently.

“This way,” she says, looking up briefly then back down. She’s not sure which way they went, but she knows, by the steady blinking of the tricorder, that they’re close. Soon, they come to a clearing and stop. Before them, stretching wide, are white sands. A beach. And to the left of them, a small glade.

“Here. We’re close,” she says.

“How is this even possible?” Tyler says, looking around him in awe. They’ve encountered at least three unique ecosystems, all within a five-mile radius. It’s unusual, at best.

“Artificial.” Dr. Culber says, voice flat. “This planet is not real.”

They quiet a moment, and there’s a slight breeze, carrying with it…laughter. A woman.

It’s low, and faint but…. “did you hear that?” Tyler says, his voice low. Culber and Tilly nod and they set out in the direction of the sound. It doesn’t take long. One voice, female. Another, male. Low. Talking. They can’t make out what’s being said but they can hear them.

Lorca. Burnham.

Tilly swallows, feeling anxious. Not about the fact they’re alive but more so about in what… “state” they’ll find them.

Tyler crouches low instructing them to do the same, and they do. The trio creeps forward in the brush.

One step. Two.

Slowly, a large hut comes into view in a clearing. The remains of a fire smolder outside of it, and there’s smoke emerging from an opening at the top. Off to the side, they see two pair of pants and a shirt/dress drying on branches.

So intent are they on being quiet, they don’t realize the voices have stopped.

.

.

There’s a rustle of leaves outside followed by the sound of footsteps. It puts them immediately on alert and Gabriel pulls Michael close, as they scoot to the back of their little home.

“They’re back,” she whispers, fear, creeping through. A sense of dread wells up in both of them.

“We’re _not_ going back,” he tells her with determination, reaching for the phaser nearby. “Stay here.”

It’s a command. Not a request.

Lorca crouches down and quietly moves out of the shelter, slipping into the trees with the practiced training of a soldier.

.

.

Tilly sneezes.

The sound echoes through the forest and Tyler turns to glare at her.

She covers her mouth. But she doesn’t have a second to apologize because when the three of them look up the absolutely furious eyes of Gabriel Lorca stare down at them, phaser pointed right at their heads, glowing red and set to kill.

.

.

Michael stays back. It’s quiet outside a long while. Eventually, she hears rustling again and footsteps and shrinks back in the shelter, grabbing for a sharpened spear that’s lying near. Her heart races, fingers gripping tight and she’s ready to thrust when Gabriel steps back in.

Relief.

 She comes to hug him, squeezing him tight, but when she looks at his face, she knows immediately something is wrong. His lips are set in a thin line, brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?”

He stiffens at the touch and pulls away quickly, all the warmth between them gone in an instant. Suddenly, she’s cold.

“Gabriel…”

“ _Captain_ , Burnham. It’s ‘Captain’ now.”

Short. Clipped. Her eyes search his, but the visor hides them, so she takes it off. And he’s not looking at her.

“Gabriel.” This time, her voice is firm. She won’t let him get away with this. And she’s not backing down either. What’s happening?”

“Rescue,” he says grimly. Finally raising his eyes to hers.

Rescue.

She tries to take a breath, but it gets caught in her throat. Her chest tightens and she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Behind her eyes is hot. And her entire body flushes…

“No…”

“Michael,” Lorca says, seeing her face. “We have to go.”

“I…” she swallows. Her throat is dry. Never has she been so weakened. So vulnerable…so…emotional and she’s struggling to fight back tears. He’s weakened her. Left her open. And she’s not prepared for this…nowhere near ready.

“No…”

She’s on repeat. And so is he.

 “We have to go.”

Speaking the words gives it finality.

 

“Captain?”

A voice. From outside. A familiar one at that. She looks at Gabriel.

“Tyler…” he tells her, watching her face. A flurry of emotions flashing across it… “Tilly and Dr. Culber.”

She swallows again and nods silently, bracing herself.

“I need…” she looks around them. He has on pants. But she’s naked, their clothes outside. All she has is the blanket. Quietly, he hands her his shirt. She puts it on and stands. It’s large and covers her to mid-thigh.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

It’s honest. She looks at him again, but this time, she’s far more composed, even though it feels like her heart is breaking. Still, the tremble in her voice gives it away, and so do her eyes. Always so expressive, even before all this. Even when he saw her the first time she stepped foot on his ship. He’s always been able to read her eyes. It’s like looking at himself in the mirror. And right now, they tell him everything. And he knows, because it feels like she’s taken away from him and…

He pulls Michael close, folding her into his arms and kissing her, knowing it’s the last time he’ll likely ever be able to do so. They stay like that, a moment and when he looks at her, he tells her something he should have said a while ago.

“I love you, Michael. No matter what, please don’t forget that.”

She nods. She knows.

He can’t be him once they leave this place. And she can’t be her, either.

Here, they were free. Up there, they’ll be prisoners again. 

He takes her hand and squeezes, letting it fall, and turns and leaves.

She breathes deeply a moment, collecting herself, before she exits behind him.

.

.

“What…are…you all…doing here?” It’s all she can think to say. Because in the next moment, Ash comes running toward her, pulling her into a hug.

“Michael! You’re safe! You’re alive…” He’s holding her close, not realizing that she’s standing, stiffly. He’s so overcome to see her, he also doesn’t see that she’s not looking at him….

Lorca has been looking at Michael the entire time, and she’s been looking at him. He knows her well by know. Knows her feelings, her expressions.

There’s no relief for them. Nothing.

He gives her a small shake of his head.

_Not now._

She swallows it back. Forces it down.

The dread.

Tilly comes up to her next, followed by Dr. Culber.

“Oh my god, we were so scared!” Her friend says, draping her in a quick hug, before taking a step back and pulling Ash off too. “Sorry, we know you’re not a hugger.” It’s a small relief, when she’s released. It’s difficult to push down everything that she’s feeling, and to school her features into the practiced calm learned from growing up Vulcan. And when she speaks again, there is no trace of the woman she had become.

 “I am…pleased, to see you both,” she tells her friends, giving them both small touches.

 “It’s good to see you all,” Lorca says forcefully. “Let’s go home.”

It is abrupt. Brusque.

Home.

Home is the place they already are. Not the one that awaits. What awaits is just another prison.

Neither of them look back as they walk toward the shuttle. They can’t. There’s no going back there.

The little lean-to stays solid. Their fire pit still smolders. The dinner begins to burn. Their clothes billow in the wind.

A little piece of Paradise.

Lost.


	10. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by SpockLikesCats.

“Captain, it is good to have you back,” Saru says as they step off the shuttle and into the bay.

Lorca is still wearing his visor, clad in Starfleet pajamas, face unshaven.

“And Burnham, you too,” Saru nods her way, almost as an afterthought.  She nods at her old colleague, but remains silent, as she has been throughout their departure from the planet, and the journey back to the ship. She too, is in Starfleet pajamas.

“Thank you, Saru,” she says, but doesn’t address the rest.

But Lorca is in no mood for happy reunions.

“Tell me, Commander, did you inform Starfleet of our disappearance?” He asks, an edge to it. Saru’s ganglia immediately surface, and at the angry glare of Lorca, he cowers a brief moment before gathering himself and standing straight.

“No, Captain. We felt—”

“Then you undertook an unauthorized rescue mission likely endangering the health and safety of your crew,” he snaps.

Burnham stands back, silently.

Tyler, Tilly and Culber try to interject on Saru’s behalf. It’s Tyler who speaks up. “Captain we felt--”  But he’s immediately silenced.

“ _IF_ I wanted to speak to you I would have addressed you, _Lieutenant_ ,” Lorca snaps, eyes never leaving Saru. “Commander, WHY wasn’t Starfleet informed?”

“Captain, I was under the impression that we…. _operated_ ….differently,” Saru says, eyes darting to Burnham. “After all, we rescued Ambassador Sarek and…”

“And so you felt it was YOUR call to violate Starfleet protocol.” It is cool, laced with an undercurrent of absolute malice. Saru’s ganglia once again surface. It is embarrassing. Humiliating really. He had operated with the best interests of Captain Lorca and Michael Burnham at heart. He had expected the captain to be…pleased. He did not anticipate this response.

 It is Dr. Culber who comes in to save him.

“Captain. We need you in sickbay,” he says, stepping up to Lorca. It gets a dismissive wave.

“I’m fine.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Culber says, drawing himself up and fully prepared to challenge Lorca if he must, “ _that_ is NOT your call.” They glare at each other. The lights in the shuttle bay are dimmed for the Captain’s benefit and the tension is thick between them all.

Burnham hangs back, quietly, slightly out of the circle as Tyler looks at Tilly. Tilly’s eyes dart between the Captain and the doctor, and Saru stares at the ground. Finally, Lorca caves.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with so that I can get back to doing my job and explain this mess to Starfleet. Commander Saru--”

“Yes, sir.” Saru stands at attention.

“I expect a full debrief when I’m finished.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lorca departs and Culber taps his comm badge. “Culber to Sickbay,” he says. “The Captain is on the way. Stand by to receive him.”

The doctor turns his attention to Burnham, who has been standing off to the side, silent during the entire exchange. He goes to her.

“Specialist,” he says.

“Yes?”

 He takes the time to appraise her. She’s now more…dressed. Wearing Starfleet issue pants and a white, short-sleeved shirt—clothing from aboard the shuttle.

“Will you report to sickbay, or do I have to order _you_ as well?” He asks, drily, having just dealt with one stubborn human and fully prepared to address the other if necessary.

She shakes her head. “No, doctor, I will go.” He follows her out of the shuttle bay, leaving Saru, Tilly and Tyler alone.

“What happened down there?” the commander asks, looking at the two of them.

“Well,” Tyler begins, somewhat bitterly. “It started with Captain Lorca pointing a phaser set to _kill_ at our heads.”

Tilly elects to remain silent.

.

.

Sickbay is largely deserted. She doesn’t see Gabriel when she enters, but there’s a section at the far end that is dimmed, and she knows he’s over there.

 “Take a seat,” Dr. Culber says guiding her to a biobed, “and follow my fingers,” he takes a seat in front of her, holding up his hand.  

She does. Left-Right-Up-Down.

Vision.

Memory.

Reflex.

Bioscan…

She waits as he takes her vital readings. The scanner passes over her head, her face, neck, arms, shoulders, chest…stomach…pelvis. It lingers there a moment, then moves down to her legs. When finished, he leans back and looks at her. She meets his stare evenly.  

 “Computer, privacy room, please.”

A clear field is activated around them. The sound muted so no one can hear.

She is absolutely still, as if a statue, her features frozen—Culber swallows hard. Her face is stone. But her eyes are watchful. Waiting.

“What happened?”

“We were tortured. The captain, more than me.”

“Were you…assaulted?” He asks carefully, weighing every word.

“No.”

“Inseminated?”

“No.”

He shifts, electing to take a softer approach. He clasps her hands in his.

“Burnham…I need to know the truth. Your bioscans show tearing.” He’s trying to put it as delicately as he can. She was intact when she left. She’s not, now.

It’s not the kind that results from general physical activity but the kind that comes from being…penetrated. But at that, she shuts down and won’t say anything else.  Just continues to stare at him. Culber tries again.

“Burnham, I _need_ for you to tell me what happened.”

“I have already told you. There is nothing more to say.”

He sighs, putting down the scanning probe. “Burnham…I’m a doctor,” he tells her. “Please let me help.”

“Am I free to go now, sir?” Her voice is quiet, yet firm. Determined. Whatever happened, she will not say.

“Can you at least tell us who took you?” He asks.

At that, she relaxes, but just a bit.

“I do not know. They were tall, but shrouded. I never saw their faces, just felt their…hands.” At that, Burnham trembles, recalling the feel of cold fingers on her skin. Her stomach. The inside of her thighs.

Culber notes the reaction. The way she shudders, clenches her knees together, her body slightly hunched.

“Did they…”

“They touched me, yes. But, there was no penetration.” What she told Gabriel when he asked.

“Where?”

“They probed my mind,” she says. “It was…clinical. As if they were examining me for something, I don’t know.”

It’s far more forthcoming. He makes note of it.

“Were you outside the entire time?”

“No. The first few days we were in an earthen cell of some sort. There was a window. But then, we were drugged and when we awoke, we were in a different cell. Inside a facility. We were given clothes.”

“How did you escape?”

“They let us go.”

Let them go…

Culber weighs his next words carefully.

“Do you know how long you were outside for?”

She thinks on it a moment.

“I’m not sure. When we were in the cells they would knock us out…We could have been unconscious days. I think, maybe…maybe we’ve been gone…” her brow furrows and she frowns, concentrating. The days and nights…at least five months outside, she knows. Maybe…

“About seven months.”

Seven months.

At that, the doctor draws a breath.

She catches the sudden change in his demeanor. “What’s wrong, doctor?”

“You say you think you’ve been gone seven months?” he repeats slowly.

“Yes. That’s only a rough estimate…we lost track of time early on….”

“Burnham,” Culber says, taking a seat in front of her and taking her hands into his. He steels himself, thinking quickly.

“You two have only been gone seven weeks.”

She shakes her head, confused.

“That’s not possible doctor. It was at least seven months on the surface, several moon cycles and the position of the night sky…”

“No, Burnham.” Culber’s voice is firm.

“I can show you the ship’s logs. You’ve only been gone seven weeks.”

Seven weeks.

It’s not real. Cannot possibly be real. Like what’s up is down and down is up. Disorienting.

“Doctor,” she says, looking at Culber. “Permission to be released to my quarters? I need to…rest.”

He nods.

“You can rest, but both you and the captain will remain here, tonight. If you do well through the evening, I’ll release you tomorrow,” he says. It gets no protest. Instead he helps her down and accompanies her to a separate bed, one prepared with blankets in a cornered-off area of the medical bay. She goes and stops when she sees who is in the bed next to hers. Lorca.

He’s seemingly asleep and what she wants is to curl up next to him, burrow into the warmth of his body, but she can’t. Without protest, she climbs into the bed next to his and turns away from him.

“We’ll check in on you two periodically,” Culber says, dimming the lights further, and plunging the area into near darkness.

She listens to the sound of his footsteps growing fainter as he walks away.

“Did Culber tell you?” The voice is low. Deep. Lorca. Her captain.

 “He said…seven weeks,” she says.

A long, long exhale.

“Not weeks, months. I think we’d know the difference.”

“Months.” She agrees. They know. They spent the first several weeks locked in a cell like rats in a cage.

There’s a rustling, and Lorca turns his body in her direction.

“Burnham.”

Her back is to him, and she’s curled up, under the blankets.

What he wants is to get close to her, pull her against his body, feel her warmth and kiss her. But he can’t. It’s all gone.

“Yes, Captain?”

Captain now. Burnham now.

“Never mind.”

He stares up at the ceiling. He’s supposed to be asleep. But he isn’t. Instead, he lies awake, listening to the soft sounds of Michael’s breathing, and remembering the way she smiled at him. Laughed for him. And loved for and with him.

.

.

The physicians compare notes.

“Several broken ribs, a puncture in the lung, and there—traces of internal bleeding, but all healed,” the CMO says, studying the images on the screen and shaking his head. “Never seen anything like it. They didn’t have any medical units with them, did they?”

“No, they didn’t,” Culber says.

“All of this damage wasn’t sustained at once. It looks like something that occurred over several instances.”

“Burnham said they were tortured.”

“No doubt. But she’s uninjured. Her scans look normal.”

He cringes a bit, but wisely remains silent. “Nothing to the degree which Lorca suffered,” he agrees. “But I am concerned about their…emotional states.”

“Emotional? What do you mean?” His superior is looking at him.

“Well, they believe they were gone for at most, seven months.”

 “Yes?”

“But they were only gone weeks. And if they believe months, then…it could be difficult for them to re-acclimate to Discovery. They are all they’ve had for quite some time now.”

“We’ll do a full psychological assessment to determine whether they’re fit for duty,” the CMO says. “That’s standard protocol after a situation like this. However, I am not too concerned about that. The Captain is a professional and Specialist Burnham was raised as a Vulcan—she has proven to be highly resistant to emotional and psychological trauma in the past.”

Culber simply nods, but he’s not convinced his commanding officer is correct.

And he’s not at all convinced, because of that one last thing—that thing he didn’t bring up. The traces of foreign DNA inside of her.

It’s late when he goes in to check on them both.

Lorca’s eyes are closed but, “I’m not asleep, doctor.”

Of course he isn’t.

“If you don’t go down yourself, Captain, I _will_ put you down.”Culber tells him. It comes out far harsher than he meant it, but what he’s feeling right now toward Lorca is anything but friendly. Because he has already run a DNA analysis on Burnham. And there was only one other human on the planet. And that other was male.

.

.

When she wakes in the morning and turns over, Lorca’s bed is empty, but Culber is sitting there.

“I need for you to tell me what happened,” he says sternly, looking at her. “And do not lie to me, Burnham.”

His face is serious, and she sits up immediately.

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of,” she says. It’s truthful. She doesn’t.

“Computer, privacy.”

Immediately they are surrounded by a wall of black, the area they’re in illuminated, but everything else, the rest of the sickbay, shut out. They’re alone.

“When I asked you yesterday if you were inseminated, you told me no,” he says. “And yet I found traces of DNA in your body that is not yours.”

At that, her eyes go wide and she shifts uncomfortably, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. It’s a complete change and takes him off guard.

“Dr. Culber, it’s not what you think,” she starts.

“Then please edify me, because right now there are only three conclusions I can draw, and all are ending in the captain’s court martial.”

“He did not rape me,” Burnham says.

“Were you two forced?”

“No.”

“Then it was…consensual?”

She hangs her head. “Yes.”

“Burnham,” Culber sighs, feeling terrible for forcing the admission. But he has a duty, and she is still property of Starfleet, as its prisoner.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” This time she looks at him, and her voice is firm. “I think I would know.”

He weighs it—whether its truthful or fabricated. She could be traumatized, or afraid of going back to prison—the only reason she is not there now is because of Lorca, and what he’s witnessing could be some sort of misplaced sense of loyalty or…

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you are telling me the truth,” he says. “You’ll have to undergo a psychological evaluation in order to be cleared for duty. And I will tell you now, this one will be more involved.”

She can only nod mutely.

“I need to ask you a series of questions,” he says. “These will be invasive. But I need you to answer me honestly.”

Another nod.

“When was the last time you had intercourse?”

She closes her eyes and squeezes her legs together.  “Yesterday afternoon.”

“Did you experience a cycle when you were gone?”

“No.”

“When did you first have intercourse?”

At that, she begins fiddling with something on her finger and his eyes go to it. A ring.

A man’s ring. It turns on her thumb and he sees the insignia and draws a breath.

“Never mind. That’s all. Give me a moment.”

He gets up and goes to a cabinet, reaching for a vial and a hypo spray. He draws from the container and comes back.

“This will prevent fertilization,” he tells her. As she extends an arm.

It’s quick. A sharp sting, and then nothing.

“Can you report back here at 1300 hours?” He asks.

She nods. “Am I free to go now?”

“Yes. Take a nap. Get a shower. We’ll see you back here for your evaluation.”

She climbs off the bed and heads out, and he stumbles to a chair, head in hands, feeling even worse than he did before.

 Because he knows that ring. Has seen it before. It’s Lorca’s ring. And it was on her hand. And Captains don’t give up their rings…

Culber sighs, running a hand down his face. He knows they were taken for a reason. And he goes back to his original supposition. The other potential victims were all in relationships of some sort. And Lorca and Burnham weren’t before they were taken, the evidence says they certainly are now.  He weighs his options. Technically, there is nothing physically wrong with her, and therefore, nothing to report, aside from a new notation in her medical files. This is small comfort though. Because he is absolutely positive they’ve both been emotionally compromised. And while Culber can fix broken bones, what he cannot fix are broken hearts.

.

.

“You’re back! I thought they’d never let you out of Sickbay!”

Tilly is there when she walks inside her quarters and it’s not the first time she’s been less than enthused about seeing her friend. She doesn’t want to see much of anyone at the moment, really. Just…a shower and a bed. Still, she knows if there’s one person who has been affected by her disappearance, it’s the cadet, and so for her, she manages a small expression of…acknowledgement.

“I thought they wouldn’t either,” she says half-heartedly, before removing her shirt and pants and heading into the bathroom.

The sonic shower is warm, but it comes nowhere close to the feel of real water on her skin. Still, there is steam and there is wetness and…she reaches down her body, slipping a finger between her legs to touch…to feel…

Nothing. The wetness from yesterday is long gone, and with it…their dreams. The hypo spray sealed it.

She feels empty.

Violated really, in a completely different way. As if something was stolen from her that she can’t get back. She knows what it is. Their home. Their family. Their freedom and happiness. All taken with the arrival of “friends”. Friends, she knows, who meant well but still…if they had just allowed them to disappear. If only they could have let go… then maybe she and Gabriel would have had a chance.

The steam billows all around her, shrouding her body, clouding her sight, and masking the tears that fall from her eyes.


	11. Intentional Obfuscations

He makes his way quickly down the hall and turns the corner, the destination looming before him. With an anxious breath, Tyler rings the comm.

The doors open for him and Tilly stands there. He gives her a small hug, his eyes darting around the room.

“Where is she?”

“Bathroom,” Tilly says, stepping aside and letting him in.

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah. She just got out of sickbay…are you okay?” She asks, looking at Tyler carefully. He looks like he just finished running a marathon to get here, and he takes a seat at Tilly’s desk.

“Yeah. It’s just…I haven’t seen her since she got back and…”

He stands up fast when the doors to the bathroom open and Burnham steps out, dressed in the blue pants and top of an off-duty crew member.

“Michael.” He breathes and goes to her, wrapping her into his arms. But this time, he feels her body go stiff, and pulls back, eyes searching.

“Hey, are you alright?”

There’s genuine concern and worry for her but she brushes it off, moving to settle down on her bed.

“I am well. I should be cleared for duty soon,” she tells him.

But he doesn’t buy it. Something is off. More than off. She’s more…closed. Far more distant than the way she was when she left and she’s not really looking at him, more like…in his general direction. He steps closer to her and bends down, touching her face. But she flinches and he draws back, hurt.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I am…tired,” Michael finishes and he backs up a bit, accepting that, for the moment. After all, she just got out of sickbay and after being gone for seven weeks he knows, from experience, these things can be disorienting. He remembers how he felt when he first stepped onto Discovery. Confused. Out of sorts, grasping for something solid when everything just moments before had hinged on life or death…

She lays back and slips under the blankets and he takes the time to pull them up around her shoulders. She turns away from him.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant.

“Michael…” but this time, she doesn’t respond, leaving him to look at the back of her head. And he can’t help but see her as she was when he found them…clad only in a t-shirt, the Captain’s t-shirt, her legs and thighs bare. Lorca, in pants…shirtless. They were gone a long time and…

Tilly’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Don’t take it personally. She gave you a lot more words than I got,” the cadet tells him with a smile. “I think she really is tired. They’ve been in sickbay since yesterday and who knows what all they dealt with on that planet. She’ll come around.”

But something in the way Tilly says it catches his attention and he realizes that she’s not really looking at him either.

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

It’s flat. She has the decency to blush.

“Just give her time, Ash.”

Ash. Not Tyler. Friend. Not superior.

“Thanks Tilly.” He gives her a small smile. “Let me know when she wakes up?”

“Will do!”

He goes. Tilly sits down on her bed, watching Michael sleep.

She wonders how to bring up the subject of the Captain, whether she even should.

.

.

It is the first time he’s seen himself in the mirror since before they were taken. And he stares at the reflection a long while. The eyes are his. But the face is…different.

A beard, more gray than black. His mouth set in a thin, straight line. His hair longer than he likes it to be. Nearly to his shoulders and streaked with white lines as well.  He looks… Old. Is this the face she saw all those nights? That of an old, defeated man?

He hates it.

Lorca immediately goes to work, trimmers and razor in hand. He’s never trusted anyone with sharp objects around his face and the task is simple enough, though it takes longer. With each cut the age begins to fall away. Each pass across his neck and chin begins to reveal something more familiar to him. And once he finishes, he washes his face, seeing something a far more acceptable one looking back at him.

But those eyes though...

He blinks, reaching out and touching the reflection in the mirror. His eyes have never lied to him like his face does, and they reflect everything. The weariness is still there. He turns away and goes to lie down. But sleep does not come. It rarely has on Discovery, not without the aid of a hypo spray. The longest record—eight days. He has not slept since they returned. Not even in sickbay. Instead, the night had been spent listening to the soft sounds she made as she slept. Sounds that are as familiar to him as his own breathing.

He had stayed still long enough to give the impression of sleep—rising at 0500 to inform his CMO that he was finished with the bed rest. The doctor released him, already knowing Lorca would not stay put for long and figuring it was the best he could get.  But that did not mean the Captain was in the clear.

“Report back at 1200 for the psychological exam.” The CMO had said.

He hates those things. Has always hated those things, but by now, he knows the drill. Has mastered it, really, fooling even the best of them. The only one he couldn’t fool was Katrina….

Katrina.

The name comes unbidden and at that, he shudders. Guilt.

Real feeling. A consequences of letting go, giving of himself to someone else. Of being weakened, maybe not physically but emotionally. He had given to Michael and she had given to him and they had managed to break down each other’s defenses. Defenses that were in place for a reason. So neither could be hurt again.

Now here they are.

He wonders where she is, what she’s doing—there’s no point in wondering how she’s feeling though. Her last look at him on the planet, coupled with their small exchange in sickbay let him know that. And he feels much the same way.

Angry.

Resentful.

But he knows he had no choice. Seeing Saru in command was an acute reminder that there needed to be someone in command to make the decisions no one else would. Seven weeks this crew had searched…way too long. How many assignments had Discovery ignored in that time? Precious resources wasted. Time wasted. Wasted on people the federation did not even want.

A reminder.

Discovery would be lost without him. It is not pride nor vanity that informs his conclusion. It is the cold, hard facts on the ground. And _this_ is why he was chosen for this mission. Because they _needed_ him, as much as they hated him. Because he could be trusted to make the hard choice—the one to kill, to destroy, to leave behind. He was the sharp end of the knife. Discovery’s _real_ weapon. The one with the bloodied hands so the admirals could have plausible deniability should anything go wrong.  And just as much as the federation needs him, he needs _her_.

Michael.

Because she is so much like him. What he used to be. What he wants to be again.

The sonic waves against his skin feel…strange. The steam, unfamiliar. Hot where he had grown accustomed to cold.

Crew quarters are soundproof. It is a good thing.

He needs this moment to just be still. And so he is, letting the steam seep through his body. But it gives absolutely no comfort. What he feels is trapped. Like the Cardassian voles he keeps in his lab. And Lorca has never liked being caged. He has always toed the line, pushing against it, forcing it to bend for him, to yield to his will. And it always has.

Except now.

Now it pushes back, constraining him.

The steam grows higher. Wrapping him in its embrace. It makes him feel as if he’s suffocating.

The crew quarters are soundproof.

And here he just screams.

.

.

 

“Captain.”

“Chief. Let’s get this over with.”

He settles down in the chair and is given a PADD. The questions start off innocuously enough.

_In the last six months, have you experienced any of the following symptoms? If so, how often?_

  * _Anxiety_
  * _Worry_
  * _Restlessness/agitation._
  * _Trouble sleeping._



The CMO watches as he carefully checks the boxes. Just enough for truthfulness, not enough to jeopardize his position. His word against the psychologists who like to try to find deeper meanings where there are none. The first several questions are simple. Until he gets to the next part.

_Have you been exposed to trauma within the past six months? How did you react to it?_

  * _Directly—I was a victim_
  * _I witnessed it in person (happening to someone else)_
  * _I learned about it happening to a close family member or friend._
  * _I was exposed to it as a result of my job._



He raises an eyebrow, debating the question—harmless by itself, but potentially damaging when weighted against the others. However, the CMO does know about the torture on the planet. His bio-scans and physical revealed the scars, and so he answers. Though he despises the term “victim”. To him, a “victim” is only one who gives up. Accepts defeat. And he has never accepted defeat.

_In the last month, did you experience any of the following symptoms caused by a traumatic event?_

Ah—the trick question. 

  * _I became reckless or took unnecessary risks_
  * _I became excessively vigilant, tense, “on guard” or jumpy_
  * _I have trouble focusing, concentrating or remembering things_
  * _I purposely avoided anything that reminded me of the event._
  * _I was unable to feel happiness, contentment, joy or love, or had trouble connecting with people._



 The last one is new. He checks “no.” Because he did feel happiness. And he was content. And felt joy, love…and had a connection—still has a connection. It’s the first truthful answer he gives.

_In the last month, did you experience any of the following symptoms caused by a traumatic event?_

  * _I am haunted by memories, flashbacks or nightmares._
  * _I lost trust in humanity and myself, and began expecting the worst of others and of situations._
  * _I frequently felt fear, guilt, and shame or blamed myself or others for what happened._
  * _I lost interest in activities I used to enjoy._
  * _I became irritable or enraged because of minor issues, or no reason at all._



This was so much easier the first time, he thinks. When he was still a green, rookie captain, still filled with wonderment at the vastness of the universe. It was also easy, after the Buran, when he was bitter, but determined, set on vengeance and on redemption. But now…now, not so much. Yet, he’s always been tactical. And here, he deploys it. Literal answers. Close attention to the question—the past _month_.

Well, if they’re only asking about the past month, then… No. In fact, his sleep, until recently has been blissful.

“Finished. Go ahead. Assess me.”

He slides the Padd over to the CMO and crosses his arms and his legs, leaning back and waiting.

The CMO frowns, looks at him and back down at the PADD.

“You’re clear, captain.” But he doesn’t look happy about it.

 _They never are,_ Lorca muses, getting up and striding out. But as the doors to sickbay open and he steps out he stops, bumping into something soft.

Michael.

“My apologies, captain,” she looks up at him, and just like every time, he’s taken by the expressiveness of her eyes. But there’s something there now he doesn’t like. She starts to keep going but he stops her, a hand on her elbow.

“What’s wrong?” It’s soft. Gentle. Just for her.

She shakes her head and steps around him and he turns, watching her go, each part of him itching to reach out and touch her, pull her back and hold her close. The doors swoosh shut—blocking is view. And he finds himself standing on the outside. With a shake of the head, he heads off to the bridge to relieve Saru—and prepare for what he knows will be an extremely long, and tedious debriefing.

.

.

Dr. Culber looks up at her, displeasure in his face.

“You’re cleared for duty, specialist.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know how you two did it.”

“Did what, sir?”

“Never mind, Burnham. Report to your duty station.”

She leaves and he sits back, pondering it. She passed her psychological exam with flying colors. The results, similar to those when she accepted her first commission. Similar to those both before and after her court martial. Same as Lorca.

He knows both of them are lying. If not to him, then to themselves. And he wonders if and when it will come back to haunt them. Unless it is already.

.

.

He is trying to give Michael space, knowing and understanding that there’s been trauma. In what form, he’s not sure—but she has spent most of the week back aboard Discovery in sickbay. And Captain Lorca has been largely absent as well.

There are whispers of torture—he believes that to be true, but Tyler knows Lorca is tough. Torture will not break him. And he also knows that Burnham is resistant as well.

Tilly becomes his eyes.

“She’s in the room,” his friend says. “But she’s tired a lot. Sleeping a lot.”

“Do you think she wants to see me?” It’s hopeful.

And Tilly looks at him, considering. “I don’t see how it would hurt. She’s not said much to me, and I live with her.”

And so he waits until his shift is over, and goes.

She’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling when the comm chirps.

Tyler. Michael rolls over to her side, contemplating.  She has not thought of him since she’s been back aboard Discovery. Had pushed him largely out of her mind for the past seven months. He was a memory only and she had firmly believed she would never see him again.

Ash’s presence with the landing party was shocking, to say the least. And she had felt…conflicted by it. Upset by it, and she is, still. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know.

He can’t know.

“Michael?” His voice again.

She sits up and quickly changes out of her uniform and combs her hair.

The door opens and he walks in, seeing her standing there, arms behind her back.

“Hey,” he says coming toward her, cautious though, not to touch. “Um…I hadn’t seen much of you since…I just wanted to see how you were doing.” It’s a lame finish. Terrible to even his ears and the way she looks at him lets him know she doesn’t buy it. However, he is grateful when she lets him out of it.

“Thank you. It has not been an easy adjustment. But I am managing.”

Managing.

“Are you…all right?” he asks, attempting to take his own appraisal of her. Physically, she looks fine. But something is…off. There is something different—but what it is, he cannot quite place.

“I am fine.”

Fine. He nods at that, searching for the next few words. “I miss you…” A slip of the tongue. Her head tilts to the side, and he closes his eyes and exhales, trying again. “We miss you on the bridge.”

The bridge. Where Gabriel—no, Lorca—where the Captain is.

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I will be on the bridge for a while.”

“But why not?” Tyler stares at her. She looks away.

“I do not wish to be there.”

It bothers him. Bothers him a lot. And he steps closer to her.

“Michael, talk to me.” A touch on her elbow, but she shies away from it and he draws back. She never did that before. In fact…

“Michael, I’m worried about you. You haven’t been yourself since you got back.”

He reaches for her again, but again, she draws away, retreating.

“I think you should leave now, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant.

His rank, not his name.

He can only look at her, upset.

“What happened between us?” It’s quiet. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

She shakes her head.

“I apologize for…misleading you.”

He turns to go. But not before casting a final look her way. “You didn’t mislead me, Michael. I know something is wrong. You aren’t you. And I want you to know…I can wait—for as long as it takes. I’m not going to give up on us.”

The door slides closed and the room is plunged into darkness again. She lies back on the bed, and exhales the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

 This is not what she wanted. What she wanted was to stay on their little planet in their little home, in their fake paradise and dream world where she was free—where she could laugh and smile and make love and be loved and now…now she’s back. In a metal prison haunted by the past, tortured by the present and with absolutely no idea what to do with either.

Because there are two men that love her…and she doesn’t know whether she loves at least one of them back. Or even if she can. Or should. Or…wants to.  

She twirls the ring around her thumb.

The captain’s ring. Lorca’s ring. Gabriel’s ring.

A commitment born of circumstance—nothing more. Feelings forced due to shared trauma, shared experience, dependence and a need for survival.

That is all it is, she tells herself. All it was. Nothing more.

It is logical to try to forget. It was never real to begin with.

A lie, it most certainly is. And she is not a liar.


	12. Strange Bedfellows

He doesn’t buy it. She’s hiding something from him.

Tyler tries Dr. Culber first—but it is a dead end. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. But doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Next, he tries Tilly again. “I don’t know either, it’s not like she’s talking to me,” she says.

The third person he tries, is Lorca himself. But this, he knows, won’t be an easy ask.

They are in the simulation room, running a training exercise.

“Take the point,” the captain orders and he does. They go: target practice. Tactical. At the end of it, both men are breathing heavily.

“I’m out of shape,” Lorca grumbles, looking at the number on his gun. Tyler takes a look. 42 to his 60.  They used to be much closer in kill count. Still, he remembers the captain has perfect aim—a phaser to the head being the prime example.

“Seven months,” the captain says under his breath. At that, Tyler’s ears perk up a bit more.

“Seven months?” He asks.

“I meant weeks.”

“But you said months.”

Lorca sighs, reloading his gun and resetting the score keeper.

“Time was…different. Seven months on the surface of the planet. Seven weeks up here. Come on. Let’s go again.”

And they do.

He tries to keep Lorca talking.

“What was it like?”

But that that, there is no answer. Or rather, one that is more action than words.

Because Lorca begins moving faster. Shooting sharper. Head shots—all of them. And afterward, Tyler takes another look at the kill count. Lorca 82 to his 64. A reminder of exactly who he’s dealing with. Afterward, Tyler dwells on what little the captain did say.

Seven weeks on Discovery. Seven months on the surface.

He knows from personal experience that a lot can happen in seven months. People can change, too.

.

.

 

It has been several days since their return, and the first steps onto the bridge are…tentative. The doors open and it feels as if all eyes are on her. All, except for his. But there are another set of eyes she wishes weren’t so focused. Tyler’s.

He comes over to speak.

“I’m glad to see you back,” he says, placing a hand on her arm. She looks at it, then at him and just nods.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

His concern is…well meaning. But she doesn’t believe she is deserving of it.  If anything, their return has made her…uncertain of many things. Their relationship…or what remains of it, one of those issues. And she is not fully really to confront that, yet.

“Enough,” Lorca’s voice snaps through the moment, and Ash’s hand falls away.

“To your stations, please.”

They break apart and go. Saru looks up from his post and nods at her, and gives him one back to signal something else: that this time, she is not a threat. Burnham knows the first officer has borne the brunt of the captain’s anger since their arrival back to Discovery. It has been spoken of. And she also knows the Kelpien takes pride in his work.

_“…Do a better job of protecting my captain than you did yours.”_

What he told her once, when she first came here. How must Saru feel now, she wonders, realizing that what he believed to be the right thing, may have been wrong?

They meet eyes again, and she lowers her head—a cultural custom of respect among Kelpians. It is a gesture meant only for him, to let him know she does not blame him for his actions; that she understands the risk he took, and that he is not to blame for the outcome. After all, she knows better than anyone what it means to fail one’s captain. And how it feels to believe in a correct course of action, but have the outcome be less than what is expected. She knows what it means to feel forsaken, which is likely what Saru is dealing with—having to bear the brunt of Lorca’s wrath.

Burnham takes her post behind the captain, on his right. Tyler at the station on the left. The crew works in silence. There’s a tension on the bridge the others feel, but can’t place. Lorca doesn’t turn around, but he does get up—pacing the bridge and staring down at the PADD in hand, wordlessly going through crew requests, maintenance updates, all manner of things that require his attention.

The lights are dimmed for his benefit, further adding to the pall hanging over the room. Every once in a while Tyler glances up from his station to observe Burnham at hers. He keeps trying to catch her attention but she too, is immersed in whatever it is she’s doing, and doesn’t look up.

Normally, there would be light talk, chatter. Neither of which the captain ever minded but right now, his mood is radiating, affecting everyone around him. And his mood, coupled with Burnham’s, is depressing everything. It is not hostile really but …. It’s very obvious neither of them feel very much like socializing. And so he stops trying with her for the time being.

The shift is uneventful. And everyone is grateful when the time turns to 0600 hours and they can leave the bridge, and get away from the overwhelming sensation of…depression, that’s seeming to be stalking Lorca and Burnham wherever they go.

.

.

“Come on. You love working out. Get up!” Tilly is standing over her bed, and Burnham has the intense urge to knock the cadet out with a neck pinch. But it wouldn’t do. Reluctantly, she rises and dresses. Two weeks have passed since the “rescue”, and most of her days have been filled with bridge work and research. Research, mostly. She has discovered being on the bridge, and in the presence of both Captain Lorca and Lieutenant Tyler is…stressful.

 

“I know you’ve been out of the loop for a while, so I’m taking it upon myself to get you back in it,” Tilly tells her as they slowly start off with a jog.

It’s been a long time since she used these muscles, exerted effort anywhere near this and to her surprise…she is…struggling. Even more surprised that Tilly, of all people, is out in front of her. This will not do.

With a rush of determination, Burnham picks up the pace and by the time they’re done, _she’s_ the one breathing heavily as they stumble into the cafeteria. Tilly places her order and Burnham does too.

“Computer, two burritos with chicken, black beans and spinach.”

A few moments later, and breakfast is ready. They settle into their seats and begin eating. Or rather, Burnham begins eating in earnest and Tilly just watches as her friend gets up, goes back to the replicator, orders two more burritos, and comes back.

They disappear just as quickly.

“When did you start eating…meat?” She asks.

“This is technically not meat—just a protein substitute simulated to give the illusion of--”

“You KNOW what I mean.”

 “We had few options for protein on the planet,” Burnham explains, refusing to call it by the name the crew has given it. “And so Ga—the captain became an adept hunter of small prey.”

The slip doesn’t go unnoticed by Tilly, but she elects to drop the subject, for now. “Tell me, how was it? Living like that for so long?”

Additional tests on the planet coupled with the reports from the captain and specialist made it quite clear that the time discrepancy was real, not imagined—and that seven weeks on Discovery really was seven months on the planet. A planet Saru had concluded was not naturally occurring but a creation of some sort—but for what, they _still_ do not know. And whoever had taken them and for what purpose also remains unknown.

Tilly had called the planet Eden. A reference lost on nearly everyone. “You know—like the garden in the Bible?” She’d said. Saru had given her blank look. Stamets had merely rolled his eyes. Tyler looked lost but the only one who really appreciated the reference was Dr. Culber.  She dared not share the reference with the Captain or Burnham though. After all…they were Adam and Eve. They were also Michael and Gabriel and that…coupled with the symbolism of it all well…

It had gotten her daydreaming—all of it, and to be quite honest, she thinks it’s romantic…but she’s always been a sucker for love and other hopeless things. Imagine the sunsets! The firelight, the twinkle of the stars at night… From what she had seen—it really did look like a paradise. But of course, she had seen far more than anyone else. Still, daydreams were just that and so, as not to appear completely naïve, she has stayed quiet about her personal theories on the matter of what is being referred to as “the disappearance”. However, if someone were to ask her thoughts about why her friend was taken, she would say it was because his name is Gabriel and her name is Michael and they are both beautiful and maybe they could be the progenitors of a new race: perhaps they were chosen because the makers of Eden had read Earth history and found two living manifestations of ancient allegories. But, in reality, it would never work because if they were able to reproduce then their children would have to mate with their siblings and…

Tilly shudders at the thought.

A fairy-tale is never that when confronted with the reality. But still…the first part of her fantasy works well. The last part…not so much.

 “You still haven’t said what it was like down there,” Tilly says, leaning across the table, her voice dropping a bit. “From what I saw, the planet was beautiful.”

“If you consider being in a cell like a caged animal for an unknown number of weeks watching your commanding officer be beaten, and yourself electrocuted and poked and prodded by strange creatures ‘beautiful’ then…I suppose that is what it was.”

At that, Burnham stands and begins walking out of the mess, Tilly following behind quickly.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up the bad stuff, I just figured you might want someone to talk to.”

“Really, Tilly. I appreciate your concern, but…I am fine,” she says as they enter their quarters. The doors whoosh closed behind them, leaving the two women alone. But this time, Tilly stands her ground.

“You AREN’T fine, Michael. You’re my best friend, and I can tell. You’re distant. Withdrawn. From me, and from Ash. You’ve been treating him terribly these past two weeks, and he was out of his mind with worry the entire time you were gone! Yet you’ve barely spoken two sentences to the man since you’ve been back. And most of your time has been spent either sleeping or working. So don’t tell me nothing is wrong when something clearly is.”

At that, Michael sits, and exhales a moment, rubbing her temples.

“You are correct that I have not been myself. But I assure you, it is just…a bit disorienting to be back. I know it was not that long for you all but for us…”

How can she explain it? How the hours turned to days, and days to nights and nights to weeks and weeks to months and…so much… _changed_.

She doesn’t realize she’s twisting the ring on her thumb. Tilly’s eyes go to the movement and as it rotates she sees the insignia emblazoned on top…the ring looks…familiar. She knows she’s seen it before but just can’t quite place it…until she does.

“Seven months,” Tilly whispers.

“Seven months,” Michael confirms.

.

.

The sounds of gagging are what wake her, and as Tilly comes to, she gets up and sees Michael throwing up in the bathroom.

“Are you alright?”

“I…” All that comes out before Michael is face down over the sink.

Tilly cringes. Bodily fluids have always turned her stomach and she really can’t look…just quietly hands her friend a towel.

Eventually, there’s the rush of water, and silence. Wearily, Michael comes out and curls up in bed.

But two days later, it happens again. Right as Burnham is preparing for her shift. She’s fine…until she’s not. And once again, the sound of retching fills their room.

Eventually, it falls silent.

Tilly waits until Michael emerges.

“Perhaps…you should get something for that,” she offers, trying to be helpful. But it’s rejected flatly.

“No.”

“Okay, well…I’ll see you later then. I’m off today,” Tilly calls as Burnham heads out of their quarters. She sits on the bed, still trying to decide the best way to approach the subject of what she saw on Eden.  Adam and Eve, alone…in the garden.

Two were taken…how many returned?

.

.

There has been much to do and nothing to do. They are stuck. Sitting on their hands, awaiting the next orders.

No. HE is stuck. The rest of his crew has work to do. 300 discreet experiments at any given time. Most of the staff holed away in their labs, heads down, working away happily, excited by some new innovation he could care less about. There is only one experiment he has interest in.

“Lieutenant Stamets,” Lorca says, striding into the engineering bay and ignoring the cringe of the staff members at the sound of his voice, “tell me we’ve got some progress?”

“Depends on what you’re referring too, sir.” He says, stifling his own annoyance at the man. Gone seven weeks, back for six and just as insufferable as before. Stamets almost wishes Lorca had stayed gone. The man’s favorite place seems to be in his engineering bay.

The captain takes a slow look around.

“Have you figured out how to stabilize the jumps so we don’t get our bells rung each time?” He asks.

Ah. That.

“Actually, captain,” Stamets says, turning around in his swivel chair to face Lorca, “We’re working on it. Trying to get just the right mix—a few less spores, perfecting the coordinates, that sort of thing. It’s coming.”

“Good.”

At that Lorca walks back up the stairs, and the engineers breathe a small sigh of relief. It’s always best to have Lorca like this, than when he’s riding them like farming mules.

The doors close, and Stamets stares at it a moment.

Something’s…off. He had expected some sort of smart-ass retort from the Captain, a bit of shade, an insult or two—it was almost…sport between them, but there was none of it. He doesn’t know whether to be glad for it, or wary—maybe Lorca is saving it for later. Could likely be later. With a shrug, he turns back around and goes back to work.

Lorca continues wandering the halls, coming to a stop at his own “lab.”

A bioscan allows only his entry. Yet when he walks in, he stops.

“Specialist.”

“Captain.”

He looks at her a long moment. Close. Very, very close. He could reach out and touch her, and he starts too—but stops.

“What are you doing in my lab,” Burnham?” It’s cold. Hard. At that, she stands up straight.

“I was attempting to run a simulation.”

“What sort of _simulation_ …and why here?” He comes around the table slowly, sizing her up. Still, she holds her ground.

“Is there a problem, sir? You gave me access to your lab, and told me I could use it when I needed it. I suppose my access is now…restricted,” she tells him, refusing to be intimidated.

“Dismissed, specialist.”

He comes to stand in front of her, and she’s silent, looking up at him.

Don’t touch…don’t touch…

“Yes, sir.”

At that, she turns on her heel and walks away. He watches as she goes, the long line of her back, the curve of her waist…

That shouldn’t have happened.

They shouldn’t have happened.

And he’s trying to correct it now. But it’s hard, and it hurts—when all he wants to do is grab her and pull her close and touch her hair and inhale her scent and…

An exhale.

Such things don’t matter now.

 Back to the mission at hand.

He takes a few more steps and goes over to where she was working, to see what she was working on.

A map.

Only a few lines plotted. His eyes glance over it.

She’s been plotting their jumps. Time, distance, sector, space. Each one going further. A chart of the distance between coordinates, the time, the space.

Only Burnham would have thought to do that—to track their progress this way.

He swipes the 4D rendering and it turns for him…a comparison. Jumps with the tardigrade, jumps with Stamets.

Smart woman.

Looking for efficiencies, he notes. Trying to make their work more functional. More…ethical, likely. Though what they’re doing is the complete opposite of it. Still, her data could come in useful should the need arise.

He closes her program, and takes a slow stroll around his lab, a cold eye observing his “things”. Things no other Captain has use for. One day, he thinks, he will no longer have use for them either.

A choice.

He would rather make love.

But he must make war.

Six weeks.

There’s no satisfaction in this. Just obligation, he tells himself. She is no longer the priority. She cannot be. It’s justified, what he’s doing. Push her away. Don’t let her get close.

There’s no looking back.

They’re not going that way.

Still, he cannot help glancing at the door.

.

.

The doors to the bridge open and she strides in, no trace of the timidity from two weeks ago.  

“Burnham,” Tyler greets her and she gives him a slight nod of acknowledgement before logging in. The captain is seated in front of her, but as usual, doesn’t even glance her way. It still stings. His lack of…anything really. She does not know what she had hoped for when they returned but this wasn’t it. Lorca is cold to her. Untouchable. Not even before they left had he been so distant.  He had always said she was valuable to him, that he needed her--now she is beginning to wonder if that is still true. If it is not, she would much rather go back to prison than stay here. Almost anything would be better, really. He does not speak to her unless he must, does not acknowledge her presence unless he is dealing with her directly and they have passed each other multiple times without so much as a glance in her direction. While she may have been raised as a Vulcan, she is still…human.

He had told her that he loved her…but she does not see nor feel it nor has she in weeks now. Their standoff in the lab is evidence of the lack of. She feels…betrayed. Duped. He is not the man she thought he was. Not the man she loved. Absently, she fiddles with the ring on her thumb.

Perhaps she should ask to be removed from the bridge. She can do her work elsewhere, since she is really not needed here. Or maybe, she should ask to be removed from Discovery all together. After all, what is her purpose now? Burnham does not like being idle nor sidelined, and she has been, since they returned.

Tyler is watching out of the corner of his eye.

 He sees her standing there, looking down at her station, the only movement in her hands. It’s where his eyes go. She’s fiddling with something, spinning something—it is a ring. That, he can tell.  And he wonders how long it’s been there. It wasn’t there before…has it come since she came back? And how had he missed such a detail? It is new.  He wonders at this a moment before the Captain calls his attention away.

“Lieutenant Tyler.”

Lorca’s sharp voice demands attention and he looks up to see the man staring at him. He meets the captain’s look with a steely one of his own, feeling as if Lorca knows exactly where his thoughts had been just moments before…sharp blue eyes slowly move in the direction of Burnham…and then come back to him.

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you and your team to run a ship-wide security sweep. Check for any unusual activity, any breaches. Make sure this vessel is secure. We’ve got a diplomatic envoy heading our way and we need to make sure we’re not compromised from the inside,” he tells him.

“Yes, sir.”

He turns and walks off the bridge, feeling Lorca’s eyes on his back as he goes. He passes Burnham on the way and glances in her direction. She meets his gaze and he watches as her eyes quickly dart from him, to Lorca and back down to her station.

It’s abundantly clear. He is being dismissed from the bridge intentionally. The task is something any of the officers in security could do. His personal oversight is not really necessary.  Something is amiss, and he does not like it.

The doors close behind him as he goes, and he exhales.

Still, the Captain is his commanding offer, and Tyler is a good soldier. He does as he’s told.

.

.

 

She watches Tyler leave and knows immediately what it was about. And it has nothing to do with running a routine security check. And while she has not really spoken to the Lieutenant in weeks, she does not like what she has just seen. The captain is standing in front of the viewer, his back to her, and head down, reading something on his PADD. The bridge is quiet again.

Uncomfortably quiet.

She h _as_ to say something. Despite her own feelings toward him, what just happened was unnecessary and wrong.

“Captain.”

But before she can, Michael is hit by a sudden wave of nausea, accompanied by a flash of heat inside her body so intense, it makes her hands shake. She tries to swallow down the overproduction of saliva in her mouth but fails as the bridge begins to spin and her legs buckle.

Lorca turns just in time to see Burnham collapse, striking her head against the console as she goes down.

He rushes to her side.

“Burnham! Burnham!”

But she’s unconscious and doesn’t hear.

The crew gathers worriedly, Saru’s eyes darting back and forth between the Captain and Burnham. But he is at the moment, powerless to assist.

“Commander Saru, you have the bridge,” Lorca says brusquely before hitting his comm badge. “Bridge to sickbay! Emergency beam out now!” He’s holding her head in his lap as a wave of white light engulfs them.

The others stand by, shaken by what has just happened. Saru sees it, and takes the chair.

“Back to your stations,” he tells them as they go.

But he too, has been shaken as well. The sensation of unease he has felt these past several weeks, only growing.


	13. Truth

When she wakes, she’s in sickbay and Dr. Culber and Captain Lorca are speaking in low voices. About something. About…her.

She twists a bit, and her movement stops their conversation.

“Burnham?”

She opens her eyes to see Lorca staring back at her.

“Gabriel.”

It’s a slip. She catches it soon after and sits up quickly but the movement makes her head start pounding and the room begin to spin all over again. She passes out for the second time.

Culber scrambles over, assessing her vitals and giving her another infusion of fluids.

“Dehydration,” he says grimly.

“And the other…thing?” Lorca asks anxiously. “Are you certain Starfleet has to get involved? There’s no way around it?”

Culber gives him a long, hard stare, but it softens when he sees where Lorca’s hand is. Around Michael’s, his thumb rubbing slow circles into her palm.

The doctor relents.

“You know as well as I do, Captain, that Burnham is still a prisoner of the Federation. And therefore, she has no doctor-patient confidentiality privileges, especially when it involves something like…this.”

He tries to phrase it delicately, but they both know.

“She should come back to consciousness soon,” Culber says. “I will notify you when she wakes.”

It’s a clear directive to him. Get out.

Lorca looks down at her, lying still in the bed. So small, he thinks. Delicate, too. He’s not seen her so still since Eden.

Eden. Their paradise.

He pushes the thought away. It won’t do now. That place is gone, and all they have is forward. But going in that direction is a daily struggle, one that grows harder, not easier, with each day that has passed. And there have been more than a few times when the yearning to go back has been so great that it is only by sheer will that he stops himself from taking her, stealing a shuttle and just leaving. But she is just one person on a ship of more than 200. Funny, how he is now torn between the needs of the two and the needs of the many. The scale should not be so balanced. The answers used to be so clear.

“Let me know, Doctor,” he tells Culber. “As soon as she’s ready. Let me know.”

He walks out of the partition. Lorca’s steps are heavy as he goes.

.

.

When she wakes again, she’s alone. No—not alone.

“Captain?”

“He’s gone. It’s just you and me.”

She turns her head to the voice, but there’s a sharpness behind her eyes that prevent her from opening them at the moment. Gabriel’s presence hadn’t been a dream. He was there. And now he’s gone.

“Dr…Culber?”

“Yes, Burnham. How are you feeling?”

How is she feeling? Tired. Weak. Physically fragile—she feels her hands shake.

“I have a headache.”

“Lights, 40 percent.”

She senses the dimming, and carefully, opens her eyes. Dr. Culber’s face hovers over hers.

“How many fingers?” He asks, holding up his hand.

“Four.”

“Follow my movement.”

Up. Down. Left. Right.

“Good. No concussion.”

But there’s concern in his voice and she picks up on it immediately.

“How… did I get here? What happened?” The last thing she remembers is feeling sick on the bridge. After that, nothing.

“You passed out. Hit your head. The captain called for emergency beam transfer.”

_Passed out._

“I need to ask you some questions,” he tells her, taking a seat by her side. In her present state, she’s too weak to protest. Just nods.

“Have you been sick lately?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“In the mornings usually. But it comes and goes throughout the day.”

“Have you been tired since you returned?”

“Yes—I’ve been…resting more frequently.” Even Tilly had commented on her sleeping.

“What about eating habits? Have they changed?”

She thinks on it.

“I was…hungry, until the nausea started. Now I feel like I can’t eat anything at all. I’m also now consuming more animal-based proteins, but that began while we were on the planet. Doctor, why are you asking me these questions?”

He looks at her again and when Culber speaks, his voice is a lot lower. Quieter.

“When was the last time you had intercourse?”

This makes her sit up and ignore the low throb in her head. She feels her entire body coil, tense and even her voice is terse. Not this… _again_. It comes out through gritted teeth. “The afternoon of our ‘rescue’ doctor, as you very well know already.”

Because he keeps asking and she keeps saying the same things and NOTHING has changed. 

“Calm down, Burnham,” Culber says, trying to reassure her, and himself.

“What’s going on? I know I am not being interrogated over a fall.” She says.

No. she’s not. He’s asking for something else. And he figures it might just be best to tell her, and let the chips fall where they may.

“You’re pregnant.”

.

.

_Pregnant._

She just stares, speechless. Thoughts escaping at the moment. All she can do is blink.

Blink, and breathe.

“But…how? You gave me a hypo spray…you said…”

He shakes his head.

“To _prevent_ conception. It does not work _after_ conception has already occurred, which can be as soon as 30 minutes after or up to a week. Either way, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that according to the readings, you are approximately six weeks pregnant. Which means…”

It means it likely happened either the night before they were rescued or the day of. In the last moments of their happy life they made the baby they’d been hoping for. But it’s not with happiness she greets this news. It’s with...foreboding.

“The captain is already informed of your condition.”

 “Why?” At that, there is something. Culber notices the way her hands grip the side of the bed. “You are a physician. What of doctor-patient confidentiality? Do no harm?”

But he shakes his head. “Under normal circumstances, yes. But, yours are…different.”

“How so?” There’s a slight tremble underneath and he looks at her, long and hard.

“We’re at war, Burnham. And you are still Starfleet’s prisoner. Any medical concern of yours, especially if of great consequence—I must report. And this falls into that category. It means I had to tell the Captain.”

The Captain.

 Tell Lorca.

Gabriel.

She swallows.

 “May I go, now doctor?”

“No. Not until you’re re-hydrated and we have your nausea under control.”

She goes to get up, but as soon as she does, the room starts spinning again and her body flushes with heat.  Seeing it, Culber rushes to her, and lays her back down gently, his face filled with sympathy. “If you want to talk…my door is open to you.”

“And would that be confidential, or not? I do not want your sympathy. Nor your pity. I am not a child.”

“Burnham…”

But she’s curled up, back turned to him now. With a sigh, he erects the privacy wall and leaves.

.

.

Culber settles down at his desk, deep in thought.

This is not good. He doesn’t think Burnham knows what the likely outcome is. But he does. And so does Lorca.

They have all been complicit to a certain extent—complicit in what they’ve told Starfleet so far, and what they haven’t. He knows of Saru’s failure to report—a matter rectified fairly quickly by Lorca himself through a simple notation on the Commander’s file, but nothing more. Short of a formal reprimand. Then, there is the report they all submitted: he, Lieutenant Tyler, Lieutenant Stamets, Saru and Cadet Tilly. Sticking to facts. Day. Date. Time. Location. Found: safe.

Medical condition at point of return…his report had merely noted no change in Burnham’s condition. Lorca’s was more thorough—only because the Chief Medical Officer wasn’t directly involved in the goings-on of their search, and because the extent of the Captain’s injuries were far more apparent. And Burnham’s was not an…injury.

Now, however, should he submit this new information there would likely be a more detailed inquiry. Culber would likely be asked to explain the circumstances of Burnham and Lorca’s disappearance. And he doubts he could lie, because he is also the only person who knows the truth. The REAL truth, not the suppositions and hypotheticals the others have floated. He has the data to back it up. This was not random. They were chosen specifically for who they were. And _that_ would trigger even _more_ questions.

Maybe, if he were to keep details at a minimum, as they did the last time, the admiralty will conclude Burnham has been inseminated— _maybe_ they won’t ask. And if they do not ask, he does not have to tell.

And if _he_ doesn’t ask the most important question of all, there can be plausible deniability.

It’s stretching, and he knows it.

None of these things will work.  Because Culber knows full well who the… _donor_ is, and deceit has never been his strong suit. The only real thing he can do is delay. But there is danger in that as well for everyone involved. Matters like this are complicated—not just physically but emotionally as well, and no matter what their psychological exams say or said, both Gabriel Lorca and Michael Burnham are emotionally compromised. The likely outcome he fears will only further hurt them both. And just say if he was to try and stall. For how long? One month. Three. Five…Nine?

There is already rumor. Innuendo. It is quiet…but growing. They were gone seven weeks. A massive search. What could they have been doing all that time? Why Lorca? Why Burnham? Why did the Captain  bring her to Discovery in the first place?  It re-starts. Now this. Should they delay Michael would be exposed to everyone on board. And there would be more whispers, which he knows would do far more damage than physical distress alone.

Perhaps it would have been better to leave them where they were found. On Eden they had managed to create a new life for themselves. Up here, they are suffering alone and apart. Lorca has no one and while Burnham has Tyler and Tilly, he doubts she has shared many of the finer aspects of her time on the planet. In this, both Lorca and Burnham are the same. He knows if it were him, he would never speak of it.

“Computer, activate privacy wall.” The transparent field is activated, but to be absolutely certain, he keeps his voice low, and whispers the command.

“Identify donor.”

“Donor Identified. Lorca, Gabriel, Captain, U.S.S. Discovery. Previously, U.S.S. Buran. Starfleet…Field medal of honor, commendation of distinction. Valor salut—

“That’s enough.”

He already knows the why of their abduction. But this confirms the reasoning behind why they were freed.  

The…evidence, is clear, and substantial.

He runs his hand down his face, the weight of everything resting on his shoulders. Culber knows. Knows exactly what the likely outcome of this is.

Discovery is no longer a science vessel. It is a warship. And there are no children aboard a warship. Burnham is no longer an officer, she is a ward—one with few rights, with a child conceived under…questionable circumstances, at best and…he is also sure that this can only end one way: badly.

.

.

The walk back to the bridge is over too soon. Not long enough to allow himself to think, or even acknowledge what he’s feeling right now. All Lorca can do is function. Compartmentalize. Focus on the task at hand and not on the greater situation looming around the corner. But as soon as the doors open and Lieutenant Tyler comes up to him with worry etched across his face, Lorca tenses. And when the younger man asks about Burnham’s condition, the captain’s answer is brusque—dismissive.

“She is resting. Back to your station, Lieutenant.”

He brushes past, ignoring the visible fall to Tyler’s face. He looks as if he wants to say something more, fists curl at his sides. Seeing it out of the corner of his eye, Lorca stops. And turns slowly.

“That’s an _order_.”

And a threat, and a promise.

If only this could have happened while they were still on Eden. Perhaps there would have been a better chance for him. But it didn’t. It comes now, when they are in a gilded jail, and the wardens will make the final determination on what their sentences will be. 

He watches icily as Tyler makes his way back to his station.

What he hates is the knowledge that he will have to give her back. That he has to return what he took from someone else. What he hates is knowing it’s highly likely she will never forgive him, will never understand what _has_ to happen, and that he will lose her, forever. It has been intentional, what he’s been doing. Pushing her away, ignoring her presence, and yet keeping her in sight, trying to delay the inevitable break that must come. But every time Lorca sees Tyler he is reminded that _this_ man will have what he himself has had. And Lorca has never been one for sharing. Deep down, he knows the only reason they were ever together was because they had no choice. That SHE had no choice. He knows this because he watched her struggle with her feelings, grapple with them, and he waited until she was resolved. He also knows he did everything he could to draw her closer. Telling her certain things, pulling her in because he _wanted_ her. It was selfish. It was wrong. But if FELT right.

 Michael may love him, he does not doubt this, but he also knows before they were taken she was well on her way with being _in love_ with Tyler.

And Lorca _hates_ him for it.

.

.

As soon as his shift is over Tyler starts for the door, but is stopped by the captain’s voice.

“Lieutenant.”

Tyler shakes his head and stifles what is about to come out of his mouth before turning around. When he does, his commanding officer is waiting, standing next to his chair, legs splayed in a parade rest position.

“Yes, sir.” The words sound biting, even to his ears. Lorca raises an eyebrow.

“Is there a problem?”

 “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

They’re the only two on the bridge. There’s another few minutes before the next crew comes in.

“ _What_ did you do to her?”

There. It’s out. His suspicion. The darkest of thoughts. The depth of the insecurity. Everything. It all circles back to this. To the question he now poses. He’s watched the way Lorca has treated her, ignoring her and deliberately keeping them apart. Effectively isolating Michael. She won’t talk to Tyler—and from what he knows, she’s not talking to Tilly either. The woman who was taken to Eden is not the same woman who returned from it and he knows Lorca has something to do with it. And he now knows exactly what that ring is on her finger. It took a moment to place it, but when he did, it was like electricity through his body.

 _Lorca’s_ ring.

The men watch one another, warily, like two predators sizing each other up. Lorca remains still. Tyler does too, and neither backs down.

It’s the Captain who speaks first.

“I protected her. Kept her safe, and that’s all you need to know. Dismissed.”

With that, Lorca turns on his heel and leaves the bridge.  

What all does _protecting_ entail, Tyler wonders as he's relieved of watch and makes his way out, heading to sickbay. But Lorca is several paces ahead and going in the same direction…they arrive at the same time and the Captain turns, glaring at him with the exact same expression he had when they came upon him and Burnham on Eden. He thinks for a moment, if Lorca were armed, he’d be dead.

“ _What_ are you doing, Lieutenant?”

“I came to check on Mich—specialist Burnham, to see if she’s alright.”

“She’s _fine_ , and _you_ are not needed. I suggest you make yourself useful somewhere else,” Lorca tells him shortly before striding in, the doors closing behind him.

Technically, he’s off-duty. And he can go wherever the hell he damn well pleases. And sickbay is not off-limits for anyone. But something says it’s a battle worth fighting later, not now. What he does know is that his instincts are presently screaming at him, and he does not trust Lorca with Michael, and especially not alone. Because something happened down there, on Eden, and no one’s saying what it was.

Although, he thinks, still dwelling on it as he walks off, there is one person who might know. And it’s the person who first found them. Because he can never forget the look on Lorca’s face as he aimed a phaser at their heads. And he still remembers how Michael looked when she finally emerged from the shelter. Dressed only in the captain’s shirt.

.

.

Lorca enters sickbay.

It’s largely empty save for a few nurses, and Dr. Culber. The privacy wall is down and he sees Michael, fast asleep.

“How is she?”

He’s worried, and he knows it shows.

“She’s fine. We’re giving her something to treat the nausea.” Culber says, turning to him.

“And…the other thing?”

Culber’s voice drops and he casts a look her way, watching her chest rise and fall evenly. “It is…progressing safely, as it should.”

He can only nod.  “What of the… _other_ , other thing?”

The reporting thing. The notification thing. At that, the doctor sighs and leans back.

“I had to send the report to command,” he tells Lorca. “There will be questions. However I did leave out…paternity.”

The word makes him cringe, but he nods.

“Thank you, doctor. When will she be cleared to go?”

“When she wakes up, sir.”

At that, he walks over to the side of Burnham’s bed, looking down at her, and again marveling at her stillness. He wants to touch. Her lips. Her eyes. Her chin. He wants to play in her hair, hold her close, and love on her. What he settles for is a brush of her hand.

She stirs.

Eyes flutter open.

“Captain?”

“I’m here.” But it’s not like the first time, when she called him by his name.

Culber turns in his chair, and seeing her awake, comes over.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Better.”

“Good. The medications are working. I want you to stay on them for the next week.” He looks at Lorca.

“No duty for her,” he says. Lorca nods looking back at Burnham.

“Can I…take her?”

_Take her._

Burnham looks at Lorca, then at Culber. He notices the captain’s hand is still touching hers. And he can’t help himself. He’s a hopeless romantic, a champion of tragic causes—and this, he thinks, is the saddest of them all.

“If…she wants to go with you, sir.”

She nods.

Culber swallows.

“I’ll have you two beamed to the Captain’s quarters.”

She sits up in bed, and Lorca settles next to her, taking her hand in his.

Because while Burnham has no confidentiality privileges, Lorca does. And in this, Culber can claim no knowledge.

“Computer, two to beam to room number 2112.”

They glow and in a moment are gone in a ray of light.

He settles back in the chair, the sense of foreboding he’s been carrying around all day growing stronger. This will not end well.

.

.

“Dr. Culber says he told you.” She says quietly, as he settles her down in his bed. There are no protests. She’s tired and feeling weak though the nausea, thankfully, has abated.  

Lorca kicks off his boots. Takes off his jacket, and comes to sit beside her.

“He did.”

They fall into silence. She burrows under the blankets inhaling. They smell like him.

Quietly, she turns away.

“Don’t do that.” he leans over, a hand on her shoulder.

“Why?”

Why. A single question. He knows what she’s asking, and he weighs the response. Not why it happened, but why he’s been so distant.

“Because we can’t go back there. No matter how…” it catches. And he swallows, closing his eyes. “No matter how badly we want too.”

He lays down beside her, wrapping an arm around her body and pulling her close. She curls against him the way she used to, when they were on Eden. Paradise.

One hand goes to her belly, rubbing.

A wish. A pipe dream at best.

“What will happen to us?” She asks. “What happened to us?”

He places his lips on her neck. Kissing her there. He cannot bring himself to tell her. He already knows what the admirals will say.


	14. Emotional Rollercoasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Editorial input via SpockLikesCats who also serves as Beta. Then I go back in, make more revisions and mess everything up again.

By the time he’s making the walk to Tilly’s quarters, the halls are largely empty. It’s getting late. Only the third shift crew is moving about. He’d needed this time to try and clear his head, to try and walk it off, to figure out the questions, the words.

Once at the door, Tyler rings the comm. But only Tilly answers.

He enters, not bothering with a greeting.

“Tell me the truth, Tilly.”

She shifts under Ash’s intense gaze. His dark eyes bore into hers so intently she can’t stand to look anymore, and averts her own.

 “ **I** …um…” her nervousness is showing and he can tell she’s trying not to say something. It’s infuriating, really.

“Tilly! Tell me the truth! What. Did. You. See? You found them. You were first to spot them. And I know damn well you know something.”

Because he has to know. MUST know.

“They were together!” She breaks, blurting it out and backing up quickly and away from him, sinking down to her own bed. Hands clasp in her lap tightly, and she closes her eyes, trying and failing to un-see what she saw. But it’s no use. It hasn’t been. It’s hard, seeing the Captain now, because when she blinks he’s clothed and when she blinks again he’s not and when she sees Michael all she can really recall is how they looked together and while it’s romantic, she also knows she’s the bearer of their secret, has been the bearer of the truth and it’s a burden that’s growing more and more untenable by the day and earlier when she heard about what happened on the bridge she got worried, and lately she’s been worried—more than that really because she has a sneaking suspicion that Michael isn’t just regular “sick” and now Ash is looking down at her and all she wants to do is hide but--

“What do you mean…together?” He asks, eyes narrowing at her and leaning on her more heavily. She’s _going_ to tell him the truth. This is _not_ up for debate. “In what way?”

Tilly’s now wringing her hands and biting her bottom lip.

“Promise not to get mad?”

And at that, he knows he will be.

“Tilly…”

His patience is growing thin. But he works to calm down, and backs down just a bit. Taking a seat on Michael’s bed, so he can look at her directly.

“All I’m asking is for the truth,” he explains. “No one will tell me anything. Everyone is lying. You know it. I do too. And I know you know something. I want to know what it is. I NEED to know what it is,” he says, the words coming out pained.

She closes her eyes, exhaling. The secret she’s been toting around now for a month. Shit.

“They were…engaged,” she says quietly. “They were in the water. His arms were around her and they were…kissing.”

And kissing became a lot more than kissing. Softly, she tells Ash everything. All the details. She’s always had expert recall, a highly-visual person, the counselors had told her. Translation: She’s always talked too much.

“That’s enough, Sylvia,” he says, interrupting her description. He doesn’t want to visualize it. Or imagine it. What she’s said is confirmation of what he thought he knew, but didn’t want to believe…still really can’t believe.

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

He shakes his head, trying and failing to will the images to go away. But they come, persistent.

And he can’t…he just can’t…

Ash lowers his head to his knees, trying to breathe through the weight in his chest.

Not Lorca. Of all people…WHY Lorca…and _how_ could Michael have made that choice?

“I’m sorry…” Tilly comes over to him and sits down. But he just shakes his head, torn between denial and disbelief.  And the longer he dwells on it the more certain he’s becoming that it _wasn’t_ her choice. It’s not the Michael he knows. Because there’s absolutely no way in hell she would allow that. She’s never allowed him…not that they had ever, but he’d been thinking maybe, they were on their way to being something more and the idea that Lorca could have…

The foul taste of bile swells in his mouth and Ash gets up quickly, bolting for the lavatory.

Tilly flinches, the sounds of retching once again filling her room. Thank goodness she’s not one of those people to throw up as an autonomous response. Soon, there’s the sound of running water and flushing.

“Sorry.” Ash comes out and sits back down on the bed, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling.

She had to have been under duress, pressure… some type of stress or something… “He hurt her.”

Tilly shakes her head. “He… didn’t look like he was hurting her. And…she didn’t…” look hurt either. In fact, they both looked perfectly content and oblivious to everything except for each other.

She was close. Wayyy to close. She shouldn’t have seen what she saw, heard what she heard.

“I think he loves her.”

In that, he hears his own words repeated back to him.

What Lorca loves more than his ship.

And he doesn’t know who to be angry at: himself, Michael, or Lorca. Or everything. Because if they hadn’t been taken, if she hadn’t left then Lorca never would have had a chance and Tyler knows what he felt for her…still feels for her, and he’s going to be damned if he lets Lorca get away with whatever shit he’s trying to pull.

Slowly he rises. “Goodnight Tilly. Thanks.”

She looks at him, instantly nervous again.

“Um…maybe you should rest. You don’t look good.”

“Nah,” he says, feigning a smile that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. “I’m fine. Believe me,” he tells her, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before leaving her quarters.

There’s no sleeping tonight.

Instead, he goes to the gym and finds a body bag. Here, in the wee hours of the morning, he focus his anger…imaging the black bag in front of him is the face of Gabriel Lorca.

.

.

She stirs against something warm. A warmth instantly familiar and she curls up against it, wrapping herself in its comfort. The security.

He wakes to the feel of her. Something that’s been missing these past few weeks, and he pulls her close, nuzzling her gently. She still smells the same, and as he runs his hand along the side of her body, he notes she feels the same too. Soothing. Like home. A body he’s felt so many times before, and desperately wants to feel again. It’s the first time he’s had her like this since they’ve returned and circumstances be damned, he wants her again.

Gently, he presses against her. A quiet question.

She turns her head, one hand reaching back to his neck, bringing his head down to hers.

A kiss.

Loving. Tender.

Hands raise the clinical gown she’s still wrapped in, feeling her hips, her thighs, touching the furry middle and slipping between her legs to caress her here…the place she likes. The place only he has ever  been.

She moans against his mouth.

Her permission.

 He wants to touch her all over, feel on her, see what’s different, can he see it? Can he feel it? Slowly, silently, they shift, practiced in the movement.  She lays on her back and he hovers, taking her in, undoing the front ties and opening the gown, searching and sensing—her breasts, her belly…all of it feels firmer…tighter and he lowers his head to her stomach, resting against her, relishing this brief moment he allows himself of sheer happiness. The knowledge that something he produced is in there. The one thing of him that is not shrouded in lies and deceit but made in love and the purest thing he has managed to create in a long, long time. He doesn’t want to let it go.

“I love you,” he breathes against her skin, kissing her here, right below her belly button. He knows. Knows damn well that the baby inside cannot hear. He knows it can’t feel. Knows it doesn’t have conscious thought or sensation but yet, its heart does beat. And he leans in, placing an ear here, in the hopes he can hear it.

It’s all too soon. Or too late, depending on the perspective. Both equally horrible.

They had just been getting started in trying. Just imagining, wishing, hoping… he’d started planning—how to expand their home, where the baby would go, how they’d take care of it and even…boy or girl. Names for each.

“What are you thinking about?” She looks down at him, laying there, resting his head on her stomach. She feels his breath, his hands, his fingers, touching—searching for something…an impression. There, but not. Too small still. Just beginning.

“I was thinking about home,” he tells her.

Home.

The tears are sudden, unbidden, and she blinks rapidly but they are stubborn things. And like all stubborn things, refuse to be moved.  He looks up at her, and sees them.

“Shh...” He makes his way up her body, removing his shirt and pants, before kissing her neck, her lips, eyes, chin. Forehead.

Slender arms wrap around his neck, pulling him down as her legs spread for him, coming up around his waist, running down the back of his thighs.

An exhale.

Relief.

“Don’t cry,” he says, feeling the soft heat between her thighs. Their eyes slip close as he enters her, feeling her body engulf his.

It’s the best feeling. The sense of all-encompassing peace.

“I’ve got you.”

She whimpers under his weight, the first pinch of penetration. He stifles a groan at the heat of her, the tightness of it. The fit.

They start slow. Movement growing more intense.

Her tears are wet the side of his face as she clings and he tries…tries to hold it together until he can’t. They come apart, together, the release laced with sorrow and love and hopelessness.

Afterward, she sleeps. But Gabriel doesn’t. He holds her until he’s forced to rise, pulling the blankets around her shoulders and kissing her gently, before making his way to the shower.

The steam provides no relief. And it’s over quickly. He dresses just as fast, and takes one last pass around the bed, fingering the soft curls of her hair, before leaving, and making his way to the bridge.

He knows where she is. Knows she’s safe for the time being in his bed. In his quarters.  And it’s all he can do, for now.

.

.

Tyler is waiting. He’s been waiting since 0600. It’s been two hours. Most of the bridge crew has arrived, taken their stations. He was first. Even beating Saru, who had looked at him with surprise at the earliness of the hour.

 “Lieutenant, a head start?”

“You could say that,” he’d replied, standing at his station, pretending to be working.

 He’s been pretending for an hour.  

The doors open revealing Lorca.

And he can’t help himself. He can’t stand the smugness. The cockiness, the look of self-satisfaction the captain wears. He hates the man. So he does the one thing he knows will get Lorca’s attention.

Tyler strides up to him and before Lorca can react—he swings. His fist connecting with the man’s jaw, sending him reeling backward.

All action on the bridge falls silent. Every head turns. Tyler glowers at Lorca, chest heaving, face filled with raw fury.

The captain stands slowly, bringing himself to his full height and rubbing his jaw, looking at him. Weighing him. Debating…

“My ready room. NOW.”

No call to security. No word about the hit. Just a command.

Still, Tyler doesn’t move.

“I said NOW, Lieutenant—unless you force my hand.”

His hand…behind his back. Tyler knows what’s there—the captain’s phaser…likely set to kill. Lorca always has one on him. And he knows the captain isn’t afraid to use it. Silently, he goes to the ready room, Lorca following.

“Back to work,” the captain snaps to the crew, before the doors close.

“You heard the Captain,” Saru says, shaking his head and looking at his console, wondering exactly what this is about. Too many secrets on this ship lately, he thinks. Too much tension. Unease. And he has more than a few ideas on what this is about. There’s a good reason Lorca didn’t send Tyler straight to the brig, Saru muses as he works. And he knows that reason is Michael Burnham.

The bridge crew does as they’re told.  But everyone is wondering what exactly is going on. First yesterday, and then today. _Something_ is amiss.

.

.

“You had sex with her.”

It’s bitter. Said through gritted teeth.

“Yes.” Lorca doesn’t even flinch. And he’s won’t back down. It’s been a long time coming anyway. Best to dispense with formality.

“Is that your version of ‘protecting’? So you use Michael like you use your other women?”

“That’s not of your concern, Lieutenant.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Captain,” Tyler says, getting into Lorca’s face. “SHE is my concern.”

Lorca just stares at him.  

“I could have killed all three of you down there.”

“But you didn’t—because you knew more would come. You violated her.”

“I did no such thing!” At that, a flash of white hot anger. Lorca may be older, but he is still fast. And strong. One hand wraps around Tyler’s neck, squeezing as the captain backs him up quickly and slams him against the bulkhead.  He’s backed up and slammed against the bulkhead. His face is dark, blue eyes bright and seething, far more dangerous and in that moment Tyler believes Lorca may very well kill him.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Lieutenant.”

“Nor you, Captain.” It’s strangled, his own hands wrapped around Lorca’s trying to pry his fingers loose. But the grip only tightens more, until he’s thrown, landing hard on the floor, gasping. Lorca comes to stand over him.

“Don’t EVER question me. And whatever you think—YOU are very, very wrong. Now, get up.”

Ash struggles to his feet, oxygen-starved lungs burning.

“You want to hit me again? Make yourself feel better? Go ahead. I’d love to see you try.” Lorca smiles.

Now he’s being taunted, and in a blind rage, he charges. Hitting the captain and tackling him to the floor. They fight. They swing. He’s got the upper hand—until there’s a turn, and he feels the heat of the captain’s fist against his face. The back of his head bangs against the ground.

A well placed knee to the chest gets Lorca off him and they both lie there, bruised, bloodied, pained and panting.

“Feel better, soldier?”

“Fuck you, sir.”

A low chuckle. Dark and menacing.  In a moment, the captain comes back to himself, and gets up, yanking Ash up with him.

“She’ll need you, again.” It’s all he says before leaving the ready room.

The doors woosh open and all eyes of the bridge turn—and widen. Ash and Lorca. Both beaten. Faces, hands bloody.

Saru moves quickly, looking at the both of them.

“Shall I call security, sir?” He asks, hand hovering on the phaser on his hip.

“No,” Lorca tells him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We were just a conversation, right _Lieutenant_?”

A conversation.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” but Ash says it between clenched teeth.

Saru’s eyes shift to Tyler, seeing the red handprint around his neck, eye already starting to turn colors. A gash on his face.

“Very well, sir.”

Lorca turns to leave. “You have the con, Commander.” Ash goes to follow but Lorca stops him.

“You--remain at your station…soldier.”

The doors close.

Tyler turns and goes to his place, looking to his left, and seeing hers empty.

Lorca’s making an example of him, he knows.

There are stares in his direction, but when he looks up, the eyes go away.

The shift just started. It will be a long eight hours.

The captain’s words replay in his head.

_She’ll need you again._

What does that mean? And does he even want Michael to need him, after what she did?

.

.

The sound of the door opening is what rouses her and she sits up in bed as Gabriel walks in, uniform torn.  

“What happened?” Michael asks, as he takes off his jacket and boots, his face and hands bloodied.

“Just a disagreement,” he tells her, walking past and heading to the bathroom. She follows, draped only in a sheet.

“What…SORT of disagreement?” Suspicious. She knows when he isn’t saying something. Like last night. This morning. And now.

He turns and pulls her close.

“Tyler knows.”

He knows. She freezes.

“About the…pregnancy?”

“No. He knows we’ve been together.” He tells her, watching her face for the reaction.

 The closing of eyes followed by the sharp intake of breath, and a deep exhale. A slight tremble of her hands. A flip of her stomach. She lets Gabriel steady her, his arms strong as she leans her head against his chest.

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want him to know.”

“Well, he does. Nothing we can do about it now.” A large hand gently strokes her head before he lets go and heads into the bathroom again.  She goes and sits on the bed, all of a sudden, tired again.

And when he comes out, that’s where he finds Michael, curled up and asleep once more.

He debates whether to leave, or whether to stay, and ultimately, he decides to leave. Ash is still on the bridge. Professional, over personal at the moment.  And Lorca has no intention of apologizing for any of this. The only person he owes anything to is presently wrapped up in his sheets, asleep in his bed and pregnant with his baby.  

A sniff.

The room still smells like their sex.

.

.

Lorca returns, lip split, but otherwise, bloodless, his uniform and hair once again immaculate. Tyler can’t say the same for himself.  He knows he looks like hell.

“Lieutenant, dismissed.”

The captain doesn’t even glance his way as he heads to his ready room. Tyler knows better than to follow him there again.

He departs the bridge.

People stare at him as he makes his way to sickbay and when he enters, Dr. Culber looks up and immediately drags him to a bed, shining a bright light into his eyes.

“Ahh!” Shit, that hurts.

“How many fingers?”

“Three.”

“Follow my hand.”

Up, down. Left, right. Satisfied, Culber begins fixing him up.

“Looks like you got into a fight with a bulkhead. I take it the bulkhead won?”

“Something like that.”

“Commander Saru told me. What the hell possessed you to swing on the Captain? You could be court-martialed for that. You aught to be grateful this is all that came of it.”

“Right. Grateful. To a rapist.”

At that, Culber pauses and lowers his hand.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“You heard me. That’s what he is. And we’re just letting him get away with it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—that’s a capital crime. Are you accusing the Captain of—“

“You know damn well what I’m saying, Doctor. Aren’t you the one who did Michael’s medical exam when she came back?” Ash looks at him hard.

“That’s confidential information.”

A scoff. “And you’re all defending him.”

“Lieutenant, are you alright?”

“Do I _look_ alright?!”

He breaks.

The few other people in the medbay glance up in their direction. Seeing this, Culber acts.

“Computer, activate privacy field. Opaque setting." The black wall comes up around them.

“Speak freely, Lieutenant.”

“Tilly told me she saw them having sex. When we were down there. That’s not Michael. He did something to her, I’m sure of it.”

“What makes you so sure?” Culber weighs his words carefully, neither confirming, nor denying. He’d had the same suspicion but realized later it was not the case.

“Because she would never do that! Because _I_ love her! And I thought…”

He thought she loved him too. It comes pouring out.

 “She betrayed me. He betrayed me. I believed…”

…that they cared. That Lorca was a friend. A mentor. And that Michael was his love. These things he says, quietly. Culber listens.

“I don’t believe you thought wrong. But keep in mind, they were down there a long time. Maybe it was only weeks for us. But it was _months_ for them. And they didn’t think they were coming back. So tell me, if it was you, what would you do?”

What would he do? Give up? Give in?

“I was in a Klingon prison ship for seven months. I did what I had to do to survive. What they did…that wasn’t survival.”

 “So you would have preferred it was just Michael by herself, having no one. Staring at forever? Would you have her be alone, and lonely?” The doctor’s words are slow, guiding.

“But why not me? Why wasn’t _I_ taken in his place? Why couldn’t _I_ have been the one to be there with her? For her?”

Why indeed.

Culber elects to remain silent. But he knows the answer to the question.

.

.

“Where have you been?!” Tilly says as soon as she walks into their shared quarters.

“Resting.”

 “Bullshit. You were with the captain, weren’t you?”

 At that, Burnham turns. “How…did you know?”

“When you passed out Tyler saw the captain going to sickbay and Lorca kicked him out and when he came to the room he was upset and we went looking for you but you were gone and no one would tell us where you were and when we came back here, he kept asking questions and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything but he was insistent and…I heard there was a fight. On the bridge…”

“Tilly.” She holds up a hand to stop the flood of words. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

“For what?”

Tilly’s face falls, and when she speaks again, she’s a lot quieter.

“I saw you two…on Eden. In the water.”

In the water.

Michael steps close to her. “You …saw us?”

“Yes. I didn’t mean to. I was following the tricorder readings and when I looked up you two were there, and I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t know how to tell you I was waiting for the right time, and it never came and then you were sick and…”

Sick.

One hand floats down to her belly. The hand with the ring on it. Tilly’s eyes follow the movement and she pauses again.

“Is that…the captain’s ring?”

Lorca’s ring. Michael looks down, having forgotten she’s been wearing it. She moves the hand behind her back but Tilly grabs it and takes a closer look.

“That’s HIS ring!”

She snatches her hand back, but it’s too late. Tilly looks at her, and Michael can see the pieces falling into place. The nausea. The sleeping. The eating…

Tilly puts her hands over her mouth. “Oh shit…”

“Tilly….” A warning. Ignored.

“Michael are you…”

She shakes her head. But it doesn’t work.

“…pregnant?”

“Please do not tell Ash.”

“I KNEW IT!!!” But Tilly’s elation is short lived. As soon as it’s out [of] her mouth, there’s a chime at their door and it opens to reveal…Ash.

“I’ma just…let you two talk,” she says, looking between them and leaving the room. Her romantic version pushing aside the darker thoughts as she makes her way down the hall. She can’t help it, really. Maybe they can be a real life fairy tale, and she can be an auntie and play with the baby and if they want a sitter, well she’d be happy to do it when the Captain is on the bridge and Michael is in the lab…or…wait…no…

As she rounds the corner, Tilly’s smile fades, because she realizes that Michael can’t…that the federation doesn’t have baby prisoners, just grown ones and…

She dips into the near-empty observation deck and slips into an empty table, trying to silence her own sniffles.

 

.

.

He doesn’t quite know why he’s come here, after being rejected so many times before. But it is where his feet have led him. He does not know whether she will be here or not—she wasn’t before, but when the doors open and he sees her standing there, he knows the time **had** has come. That they must speak, whether she wants to or not. There are things he must know for himself.

“I’ma just…let you two talk,” Tilly says, sliding around him and out the door. It closes, leaving him and Michael alone.

“You look well.” All he can muster at the moment.

“Thank you.” All she can really say. He goes to sit on Tilly’s bed, and Michael takes up residence on hers. He eyes her. She’s seated, clad in Starfleet issue pants and a black tank top, her feet still in boots.

“Are you…well?”

“I am.”

It’s uncomfortable. Like a first introduction. Or talking to a stranger. Or someone you haven’t seen in a long time. He doesn’t know where to start, and she’s not offering anything. Finally, his eyes settle on the ring on her thumb.

“You’re wearing his ring.”

At that, something. Her eyes glance down to it yet again, and twists it under her thumb, drawing her hands back, out of his sight. But she doesn’t deny it.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Why all of it. The secrecy. The denials. The distance. Why Lorca, instead of him? She draws a breath.

“It…happened.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Then you… _wanted_ him too.”

“I…It is…complex.” he sees her eyes shift. Her mind working. He can almost hear the thoughts turning in her head.

A bitter laugh. “Deflection isn’t your strong suit.”

 “Yes.”

But the yes is complicated. As matters like these often are. He’s hurt by the confirmation, wishes she would have said no.

“Do you…love him?”

They never said it to each other. But he thought it. And he’d wanted to tell her, was planning to tell her how he felt, but then she just…disappeared.

“I ….”

Unsure, now. Where before, on Eden, she had been. When Gabriel lay her down, and they made love in their little home. When he touched her, took care of her, protected them…she did…no, she does. She’s pregnant. There is proof… but now…now all of it is back—the doubt, the insecurity. Their early conversations, when she’d struggled to define how she felt—about Ash. About Gabriel.  Can you love two people? Gabriel didn’t say. He didn’t explain this part of it. And what does she say to Ash? _How_ does she say it? Her vocabulary is ill-equipped for something like this. Because she knows Ash has been trying. That he’s been there nearly every day since she got back, but she hasn’t been able to bring herself to reach out to him, or re-connect with him because…

Because she feels guilty. For loving Lorca.

It was so easy down there, on Eden, for them to lose themselves. Down there, there was no one to question their loyalty to each other, no one to share devotion. Just the two of them and they had made the best life they could with one another. She has tried to ignore the inevitable conflict, to pretend as if it doesn’t exist and all that she has managed to do is complicate it even further. Because looking at Ash’s face she knows he feels betrayed. And she cannot say honestly that what they shared was not real. It was real with Gabriel too, and in what universe can two loves exist?

Does she tell him this? Can she even begin to explain it? And is what she has done unforgiveable?

One or the other…eventually she had to choose.

“We didn’t think we were coming back.”

They had believed they were meant to stay there. They had made their choice and their decision based on circumstance and mutual respect and admiration and confidence and trust and…wasn’t all that that love?

Attraction too. She was attracted. Had been from the beginning but she just didn’t know what it was, or understand it. It took Tilly telling her, pushing her toward Ash in the first place to understand what attraction felt like, and maybe she had just transferred what she felt toward Gabriel to Ash. Or did she transfer what she felt toward Ash to Gabriel?

Absently, she twirls the ring around her thumb.

He sees it again and cringes, hands clench behind him.

“He…gave it to you. Why?” Bitter. Terse.

Why…

She knows why.

Because he married her. She married him. She committed to him. They made a promise. To love one another. Protect one another.

_Do you want a family, Michael?_

A hand on her stomach. Another involuntary, unconscious action. She does. She did...

Ash sees it too. And this time, he blanches, stumbling backward a moment, floored. Like he could just die.

“Oh, god…no…”

This, she has an answer to. A hard one, but truthful still. “Yes.”

He can’t…it’s not, this is not…“You _married_ him.”

Another answer. No less difficult to give. “Yes.”

“You love him.”

“…Yes.”

He looks at Michael, staring down at her hands. Not looking at him. He can barely even stand to look at her. It hurts too much. Cuts too deep.

“Did you ever…do you, love me?”

At that, she looks at him. But her reply is quiet. Barely audible.

“I…”

The world stands still for them. For her…it’s too much. Too much conflicting information. None of it makes sense anymore. It’s overwhelming…She can’t…can’t think…can’t…process…

Her eyes close. And before Ash’s eyes, Michael simply passes out.


	15. Revelations

_Long fingers reach out to touch her. Stroke her…poke…prod…probe…her hips…her thighs, stomach…they are searching…._

_She sees herself struggling, the figures around her communicating between themselves…_

_Images…fragments really._

_She sees Gabriel….smiling, loving…broken, healed…_

_Why?_

_“What do you want from us?”_

_She’s screaming at them._

_Yelling at them._

_“Answer me! We deserve an answer! Why?”_

_No reply._

_Like ghosts they fade to the background. But she sees them…standing by the lean-to, watching.  In the river. Watching. On the beach. In the forest…_

_They hover, ever near, watching. Waiting, always._

_“What do you want from me?!!!”_

_She sees them even as she makes love to her husband._

_Please, tell me!” A sob. Desperation._

_There’s no escape …until…slowly, the truth reveals itself…_

_She watches the sky part. Watches the people on the ground. Recognizes the moment._

_Oh No…._

.

.

Burnham sits upright in the bed, gasping for breath.

Both Tyler and Lorca rush over as she heaves, her chest rising and falling quickly.

“Computer, privacy wall,” the doctor orders. It rises quickly.

“Opaque.” They are surrounded, as if in a cocoon. No one can see inside.

“Gabriel,” she turns to him and reaches out and he goes to her, ignoring Culber and Tyler as he takes her into his arms, holding her tight.

“Shh…I’m here…”

He strokes her hair as she breathes heavily in his arms, trying to gather herself.

The doctor and Lieutenant observe silently, standing back, giving them space. For Tyler, it is clear. Abundantly clear. Whatever doubts remain are erased.

He knows. Before him is the answer to the last question he posed.

After a while Michael composes herself.

“I know why we were taken.” Her voice is a little more steady.

“Why?” Ash speaks. They all look at her but she turns to speak to Gabriel directly.

“We were an experiment. On human mating.”

“Then why did they let us go?” Lorca says. “Why not keep us?”

“Because we…” at that, her voice starts to fade and she glances at Culber, then Tyler, then back at him.

“I think they released you, sir…because the experiment was…complete,” the doctor says, stepping in to fill in the words, attempting to be tactful.

“How? Why? I don’t understand.”

“Her pregnancy,” Tyler deadpans.

“He’s right.”

They all look at Culber. The doctor sighs. All three of the involved parties are present. He might as well say it.

'Lieutenant, you weren’t taken because you weren’t the best genetic match,” he says. “The captain and Burnham …are, scientifically speaking, perfect—for each other.”

He has run every medical test. Every outcome. Every piece of available data, and it all points to this. That the abductors were looking for mating pairs, drawing upon existing relationships. An even number of men and women scanned. All with some relationship with another person.  And among them all, Burnham and Lorca were the highest biological match. Compatibility distilled down to cold data. Science.  An experiment on human mating. And in terms of outcome, a successful one at that.

“They wanted a breeding pair,” Culber tells them.  “And they forced you two into a situation--a simulation really--to enhance the probability of coupling.”

The planet wasn’t real. And the beatings, the taking of one without the other, the isolation—all of it. To encourage a bonding without actually forcing. To speed up what under normal circumstances, may have occurred organically or, unless they wanted it to, may not have occurred at all.  There were only two people who had no choice but to depend on each other, rely on each other, and care for each other in order to survive.

Like rats in a cage. A gilded one. But a cage, still.

.

.

Ash caught Michael right before she hit the floor. And they were emergency beamed right into sickbay. He hadn’t seen it coming. She had just spoken moments before and then—nothing. She had wilted in front of him, exactly like what had happened on the bridge just two days prior.

Lorca looks at him, face set, lips in a straight line. But Ash doesn’t yield. Not this time. Instead, the captain swallows and looks down at her.

 “Michael?” It’s quiet. Gentle…reassuring.

“Are you okay?”

She raises her face to his, and he can see her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “I just want to go home.”

Home. To Eden. Where she can wake up from this nightmare.

Culber moves in, giving her a hypo spray. “Sedation” he explains. “She’s not used to…this.”

This, as in both Ash and Lorca surrounding her.

He had tried to explain when they materialized. He’d told the doctor what happened in the moments preceding and had gotten thoroughly cussed out for it.

“At the end of the day,” Culber had told him, “she’s still Vulcan, and there’s only so much emotion she can handle. This past month has overtaxed her, **overrode** her training. She’s just as confused as you are and hammering her, trying to force things from her, backfired. It was too much. Too fast. Too soon.”

Even Lorca stands back and they watch as she falls asleep.

“I’m not going anywhere," Ash says, taking up residence on the left side of her bed.

“Nor am I,” Lorca says, claiming a spot on the right. She’s his wife. Maybe there are no federation records, but he made her a promise and he’s determined to keep it. To be there. In whatever form it looks like.

Culber looks at the both of them, debating whether to kick one or both out. But he doesn’t want a scene. Nor does he want a fight in his sickbay.

“You two can stay, but if she wakes and her levels are elevated, I’m putting you out. This area will remain sealed.”

The doctor leaves them alone, the black privacy wall sheltering them from prying eyes.

 “I’m…sorry, sir.” It takes Tyler a moment to actually let the words go.

He knows why he’s angry. It’s because he’s jealous. Lorca called him on it earlier. But he also knows if it were just Michael alone, it would have been far worse. And he can see that she loves the man. It’s not as if he has a say in the matter, nor does he have a choice in whether to accept it. So he has to.

“No apologies. If I were you, I would feel the same.”

Ash looks up at him. Lorca is sitting in a chair, eyes closed, head against the wall.

“Her pregnancy…”

At that, one sharp blue eye opens and looks at him.

 “We weren’t supposed to come back,” the captain says. “And had Saru followed protocol, _none_ of us would be here right now.”

It’s Ash’s turn to chew on that.

“You were banking on Starfleet not coming after you two,” he says. “A mutineer. A defiant captain. Missing in action. Two problems, erased.”

Lorca nods.

“Um hm. We did what we had to do to survive. We kept each other safe. And sane.”

.

.

“Captain, our apologies for not meeting earlier. We are…pleased of your safe return.”

“Thank you.” That is all he says about it as he sits, the holographic images of Starfleet’s admiralty surrounding him. He can tell by the looks on their faces, they’re absolutely NOT pleased to see him. Lying is what passes for diplomacy with these people. But he plays the game.

“Dr. Culber has forwarded the medical records of Michael Burnham to us, and we understand there is a situation.”

All he does is nod.

“You _are_ aware this cannot be allowed to proceed?”

“I am aware Burnham still retains certain rights,” he says, avoiding a direct answer.

“Perhaps you could shed light on the…matter? Have you learned any more about why you two were taken?”

Lorca shakes his head. “I cannot, and we have not.”

It is a lie.

The admirals are silent a long while.

“We see you have disciplined Commander Saru for his failure to report?”

“I have.” No, he hasn’t. And he’s not going to.

“Doctor Culber says the prisoner claims she was neither inseminated, nor was she assaulted.” They speak again.

“That is what she has said, to my knowledge as well.”

“Then can YOU explain the circumstances of this…situation?”

“I cannot.” Again.

“Captain Lorca…” Admiral Terral stares down at him from the holovid. Lorca looks back blankly. He knows the Vulcan is searching. Looking for an in. And he won’t give him one.

“Yes, admiral? If you would like a direct answer I would suggest asking a direct question. We were unconscious for days at a time. What _else_ would you like to know?”

He looks at them—each one, daring them to ask the question.

They all shift, uncomfortably.

“Let us dispense with the formality. Given that she is a prisoner, coupled with the unfortunate and questionable circumstances of pregnancy we believe it would be in the best interest of all parties if it were to be terminated.”

Terminated.

His hands clench under the table, but he maintains his own façade.

 “She does not wish to terminate.”

“Captain—if she cannot recall the circumstances of what led to her pregnancy, how is she in any condition to make a rational choice? Furthermore, we do not even know what this ‘life’...is—whether it is human or alien. The medical report we received did not specify. However, in the likelihood that it is alien, we have concluded it could _kill_ the prisoner.”

His jaw clenches. “Her _name_ is Michael Burnham.”  

Goddamn them. What he wants is to take a phaser to them all. But he works to stay calm…even as his blood begins to boil. They are probing. Testing. Trying him. He knows this. They do too. Lorca switches tactics.

“If her life were at risk, Dr. Culber would have made mention of it. Have any of you consulted directly with her, seeing as how you are trying to make a critical choice FOR her?” Because she’s not _just_ a piece of property. 

“No. She is a prisoner. We don’t see any alternative.  We will ensure a Starfleet medical representative consults directly with Dr. Culber and is present for the procedure.”

 “What if the child is…human?” He is trying…arguing on her behalf, and his own. Because he does not want to be the one to have to do this to her …or to himself.

“Is it, _Captain_?” Terral again.

There is a pause as both sides wait. Lorca knows he cannot say yes. Cannot confirm it—he would be removed from his position, and if he loses his chair…he can’t protect her. And he has made Burnham that promise…that he will protect her from Starfleet, though he is doing a terrible job of it now.

“I’m sorry, Captain. The decision has been made. We believe termination is the best option…for _everyone_ involved.”

“No.” At that, he speaks, pausing them before they can end the transmission. “You believe it’s the best option for _you_. Because it wouldn’t do to have a baby born in a Starfleet prison, it’s mother serving a life sentence because the federation has too much pride to admit she was right in the first place about how to prevent the war we’re presently _losing_. And I’ll also tell you this—if you want to keep losing, then take this away from her. Because that _prisoner_ named Michael Burnham is the _only_ reason this ship has succeeded where all your other efforts have failed.”

This time, he doesn’t even bother to hide his disdain. They all look away.

“We will consult directly with Dr. Culber, and ensure this is done as swiftly as possible.”

At that, the holograms disappear, and he is left alone in his ready room.

Lorca slumps into his chair and buries his head in his hands.

.

.

“Doctor Culber here.”

The private transmission comes through on his desk. He listens quietly and when it is over, feels a lone tear fall from his face.

There it is. The sentence.

He swallows. For a brief moment the doctor contemplates refusal. As a physician his first oath is to do no harm. But he also knows should he decline Starfleet will send another in his place. And they will continue to do so until they find one who is willing. He thinks he would rather take this upon himself, as to not traumatize her more than she will be already.

“Computer, schedule evacuation procedure…Patient…” he chokes on the words. “Michael Burnham.”


	16. Destruction

She is walking to the bridge and is about to step in when the doors open and the Captain comes out.

“Walk with me,” he says briskly. The tone leaves no room for protest. She turns and follows him. They stride in step down the hall to the turbo lift and go down a level.

His private lab. “Identity confirmed. Lorca, Gabriel.” The doors open for them and she steps in. She has been here many times before but each time is a reminder. That there are multiple sides of Gabriel. The lover. And the warrior. The commander. The tactician.

Right now, he is the captain.

“Why have you brought me here, sir?”

He silences her by coming close, and kissing her lips. She wraps her arms around his neck, and his go to her belly, hidden under her uniform.

The nausea has long since abated. It has been three weeks since she found out. Two months. And at her last visit to doctor Culber, he’d told her the pregnancy was progressing well.

Her baby is the only real thing she has now to hold on too. Everything else is uncertain. But this, is something real. Tangible, while the rest of it feels like a dream.

Did her captors know what would happen when they were taken? Sometimes, she wonders. Were they given back on purpose just to see what would happen? And are _they_ still watching, even now, documenting and recording the fallout? It is one thing to conduct experiments. Another to be an unwilling participant. 

He ends the kiss and leans back against a table, appraising her.

“How are you?”

Her fingers grace her belly. “We’re well. Dr. Culber says he’s doing well. That he’s growing properly.”

“He?”

She realizes the slip, but nods.

“He.”

A boy. His eyes go hot, and when he looks at Michael, her face swims in front of him.

It is only the second time she’s seen him cry.

She touches his face.

“Tell me. You’ve been keeping something from me.”

He can only nod, reaching for her again.

She’s warm against his chest. So warm. She’s everything to him. His wife. His life.

“Did you have a name?” He asks, voice coming out as a whisper.

“Uriel.”

He smiles at that. The symbolism of it all.

Michael. Gabriel. Uriel.

“I think I failed my namesake,” he tells her, kissing her forehead.

“You’re avoiding the question.”

He is. Delaying it, really.

She pulls back, looking up into his face, touching him. For the first time, she thinks Gabriel looks…old. The fine lines around his eyes, more apparent. The ones around his lips, enhanced by the frown. Weary. Worn.

A reminder of why they made their baby in the first place. Someone to take care of her when he’s gone.

“Tell me the truth.”

She keeps asking, he keeps not saying. But now he has no choice. It’s set for tomorrow morning, 0800 hours.

“The admirals are aware of our situation,” he says, trying to be more of a captain than he feels at the moment.

“And?”

“And…they have decided that the best course of action is to…terminate.”

“No!”

She pulls away from him violently and he grabs her back, forcefully. Michael struggles but Gabriel is stronger and he holds her, holds on to her as she screams. The scream turns into a wail, and she wails until she cries. Cries until they slide to the floor, and he can only rock her in his arms and hold her tightly.

It’s a boy. A child he will never see. Not in this life.

 “I’ve still got you,” he whispers as she trembles against his chest, shaking her head. He knows full well she doesn’t believe him. At the moment, he doesn’t believe himself.

 But they have to do this. There is no out. No other way.

He holds her, rocks her, until her body begins to still, and her sobs start to quiet **.** He'll put her to bed in his quarters tonight. It’s the least he can do.

“Two to beam to Room 2-1-1-2," he tells the transporter room. It’s the best way, the only way. No one to see, no questions asked.

He lays her down in his bed, covers her up, and closes the door. A security lock is placed on it. Keeping her sealed inside. Lorca returns to the bridge.

“Lieutenant Tyler,” he says walking to his ready room. “Follow me.”

Tyler does.

The only thing he tells him is where to be and what time, before leaving again.

And when Lorca gets back to his quarters, he sits at his desk, arms folded, watching her sleep. He _will_ do this. He has to do this. He is going to take her to sickbay. And he will force her, if he must. It will be on his hands. His conscience. A consequence of his own selfishness. Because he knew better on Eden. Knew it wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. And now he pays the price.

She’ll suffer, because of him. And he wants to make sure she knows it is his fault.

He deserves to suffer. To lose her and the baby too. Because he is a captain. And he was chosen to make the decisions no one else would, or could. He was selected to carry out the worst of them. First the Buran. Then, Katrina. Now Michael and Uriel.

There are far more people at stake than just the last two. Or the last three. Or the last 113.

There are always casualties in war.

It is a mantra he repeats over and over through the night as she sleeps. Until he’s inured himself. Anesthetized himself. Prepared himself to do what _must_ be done.

And when Michael wakes, all it takes is a look at his hardened gaze to make her go still. Because she knows, looking at him, that _this_ is Lorca. The REAL Lorca. Not Gabriel. Not the man he wants to be, but the man he is. It’s in the shadows on his face. The steely reserve in his eyes, dark and glowering.

“Let’s go, specialist.”

Specialist.

She sits up and he comes to stand over her, one hand on her arm, his grip tight.

“Two to beam to sickbay.”

They go, awash in light.

Culber turns as they appear and comes over quickly.

“Captain…”

“Doctor.”

It is formal. Stiff. No room for familiarity.

The Starfleet doctor comes over to them as well extending a hand to Lorca in greeting. “I’m Dr. Shamlar,” he says. “I will be observing.”

Lorca merely looks at the man, the disdain evident. He doesn’t even try to hide his disgust. Shamlar, seeming to realize the danger present, quickly withdraws his hand.

Michael turns, looking up at Lorca, but he won’t meet her eyes.

“Gabriel, please…don’t do this.”  Her voice low, wavering. But still, he won’t look at her.

“Specialist,” Culber comes placing an arm on her shoulder. “This will be over quickly, I promise. No pain.”

No _physical_ pain, it goes without saying.

She feels the sting of the hypo spray in her arm, and slowly the room begins to spin. Culber guides her to the bio bed and lays her down.

“Gentlemen, a moment?” He asks. The captain and doctor leave as he prepares the patient, changing her into a surgical gown.

He allows them back in once he’s finished. And Lorca watches impassively on the view screen, as what’s inside her comes into view. It is small, pea-shaped. The outline of a head, he can tell…and the beginnings of a hand…a foot…possibly eyes….it floats, twitches a bit its body translucent. Veins, ventricles and…a quickly beating heart.

His pulse pounds in his ears. But he stays still. Quiet.

Culber works silently, the device passing back and forth slowly, methodically across her stomach, and in just as much time, the image on the screen begins to be erased. He watches the heart stop beating. The body disappear, until the space where it had been is empty.

 “Procedure completed,” the doctor says, grimly.

Dr. Shamlar nods. “I will confirm with Starfleet. Thank you Dr. Culber,” he says. “Captain.” But the look Lorca gives him makes him almost wither, and he hurries from the area and leaving the two of them alone.

“Captain…” Culber says, taking a look at Lorca, who is watching Michael, asleep, his arms crossed. His face is impassive, but the doctor is not fooled. The captain’s jaw is twitching. The vein in his neck, visible, and his back tense, shoulders squared, still.  

“I’m sorry, sir.”

_Sorry._

“That does not change the outcome, doctor, and it does not count for much,” Lorca says drily, turning slowly to look at him a moment, before walking out.

Culber sees the hurt plainly. It’s written in Lorca’s eyes, if not his face.


	17. Back To Eden

**Epilogue**

The only light is that of the stars in the blackness of space beyond.

They reflect in his eyes as he gazes out of the window, lost in his own thoughts, immersed in his own grief.

It has not gotten better, not that he ever believed it would.

She is just one more loss. He could build a monument to nothingness with the staggering amount of failure he has endured.

 Lorca stares, arms crossed.

He told Tyler once that he chooses his own pain.

And he does. As evidenced by the decision he made. The worst choice. Every day he wonders if he could have done something different. He replays the conversation with the admirals over and over…

He should have risked it. Said something. Claimed what was his and let fate dictate the rest. They would have been forced to stand down.

But what then? He would have one of them, but not both.

Her face, eyes puffy from crying, her wail, so _anguished_ —they torture him. Haunt him. Memories of sweet kisses, loving touches, the time they shared when they were happy—it is so much more painful than the burning of his own eyes, damaged the day he was forced to kill more than 100 people to save them from a fate worse than death. These days he contemplates his own. Slow. Painful.

He stands down now—watching as the woman he loves slowly begins to fall in love again with someone else.

The way it was supposed to be, he thinks bitterly, before some creatures decided to interfere in their lives.

To her, he is captain only.

Not husband. Not lover. Not protector. Only Captain. Warden.

It was the only way to keep her safe, he tells himself. And she _is_ safe, here. With him. Physically.

Maybe one day she will understand his choice, what he was forced to do to keep her and their son out of a federation prison.

Because even as he dwells on it, replays it, Lorca knows Starfleet _never_ would have allowed her to keep that child. And Starfleet never would have allowed _him_ to keep them both.

Maybe in another life, he thinks, turning away from the window and activating the computer.

A star chart lights up in front of him.

Varying points on a grid. Where Discovery has been. Where it could go. The map Burnham started, but never finished.

His pet project now.

 A growing obsession, really.

 Dimensions. Galaxies.

Maybe somewhere in these myriad of universes…there is one for them.

That place is not here.

But he _will_ find it. And he will take her there. Because she is _not_ going back to Starfleet.

It’s the one promise he made. The one he vows to keep by any means necessary.

Even as Ash is making Michael smile again, it is still Lorca’s ring that remains on her hand. And that alone he knows, is no accident.

**.**

**.**

_They watch, contemplating. It is not the outcome that was anticipated. And it is…disappointing. Is what they have witnessed the true nature of man? What good was served?  
_

_Two people grieve, lonely and apart. There is much fondness for their bonded pair. From the beginning it was known these two were special. They had scoured many ships, looking for the perfect match and finally found them._

_What they did not factor in was the influence of others._

_How lovely their couple was! How they loved with such passion, so expressive! So…emotional._

_Could these two be outliers? Or were they, as researchers, too selective in their choice? Was the experiment itself corrupted from the beginning for it to end like this? There is really only one way to know for sure._

_The members of the council confer._

_Taking them back to the laboratory planet could result in more trauma._

_But perhaps…_

_Perhaps there is another way to save them. Because the watchers believe that this outcome is…_

_Unacceptable._

_It is decided._

_They will re-start the experiment. Rewind. They will go back to the moment they decided to reveal their subjects, and keep them shrouded, protected, for a while longer. They will allow nature to take its course. They wish to see what should have and could have been._

_Slowly, the watchers begin to turn back time. The universe begins to spin and fade, everything begins to run backward, until, finally, Gabriel and Michael are back on Eden, sequestered and protected once more._

_The shield around the planet is raised once again._


End file.
